


October 2373

by sunlitroses



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alien Planet, Cave-In, Dubious Science, F/M, Fictober 2020, Hurt/Comfort, Inktober 2020, Mag's OTPtober 2020, Mention of being a POW (Past), Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Trektober 2020, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 51,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlitroses/pseuds/sunlitroses
Summary: Picture it: The Delta Quadrant, October 2373... this is a month on the star ship Voyager.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 286
Kudos: 134





	1. 01 October 2373

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt to fulfill five October 2020 challenges simultaneously, while still creating one coherent story. My expectations are low, as are the depths to which I am willing to sink to redefine 'coherent.' 
> 
> For anyone who wants to play along at home the five challenges are: Trektober, OTPtober, Fictober, Whumptober, and Inktober. I'm posting the pictures to my Tumblr (@sun-lit-roses), mainly so I don't have to puzzle out how to embed them here.
> 
> Also, shout out to the wonderful Caladenia who created the most amazing timeline of Voyager adventures! It enabled me to find the one October in the whole seven years that wasn't already booked for shenanigans. I don't know if it will ever be relevant, but this takes place in Season Three, in the gap between the episodes "Favorite Son" and "Real Life."

“When I said that we should do something that didn’t involve the ship, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Chakotay muttered, leaning his head back to thud against the wall behind him. It wasn’t precisely more comfortable, but then again nothing was going to make hanging by his wrists in an alien prison all that comfortable.

“To be fair,” his fellow-prisoner rasped, “it didn’t start out so bad.” Chakotay lifted his head up so that he could make certain Kathryn knew how underwhelming he found that caveat. She met his unimpressed eyebrow with a shrug and as much of a grin as she could manage with a split and swollen lip.

The morning had started out well, Chakotay begrudgingly conceded - although only in his mind. They had taken up the Magistrate’s offer to go fishing at the private stream that wound through his country acreage. However, he had apparently not seen fit to notify the local forces that they had been given permission. After surprising them on the river bank, the planetary law enforcement had read them a riot act on poaching and hustled them off to the city jail.

Upon arrival, after ‘processing,’ they had immediately imprisoned him in these blasted shackles. Kathryn, however, they had hauled off somewhere that the cell guard wouldn’t tell him, no matter his appeals, questions, or outright threats. She had been returned not long ago, and shoved into a cage suspended from the ceiling.

The saving grace was that the cage hung close to where he stood, close enough that Chakotay could see for himself that, while she had been roughed up, she was not materially harmed. Also close enough that Kathryn could reach through the bars and touch one of his manacles – not that it did much good with nothing to break them. They’d been stripped and given rough prison garments, with no chance to secrete anything useful on their persons. Even all of her hairpins had been taken, so that her chances of picking the lock had vanished and her hair hung in loose curls past her shoulders.

He opened his mouth to tell her exactly how his idea of a date on the river bank in no way included a prison cell, when the clomping of boots echoing down the hall warned them of the possibility of visitors. Could they possibly be coming to take her again? Fruitlessly, he flexed his hands in their restraints.

The boots stopped, and Chakotay could see the guard straighten outside the door to their room. Then an alien dressed as though he’d watched every B-movie in existence and taken strenuous notes about the villains stomped inside. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kathryn stiffen.

“Not so proud behind bars, are you?” he sneered. Truthfully, Chakotay suspected it’d be easier to break the Captain’s caffeine addiction than her pride, but kept that opinion to himself. “Fine, you’ve only yourself to blame,” he nodded towards Chakotay, “Take him.”

He thought perhaps this might be an opportunity to escape, but one touch to the ribs with the device in the guards’ hands and he knew that he’d never be able to fight the pain from five guards with those devices at once. He’d have to bide his time a while longer.

As they marched him back down the hallway, he could hear Kathryn lambasting the B-movie Villain at full throat. “No, come back! You…”

* * *

It was quite a while later before Chakotay found himself once more trudging down the same hallway. Well, less trudging than being half carried. Whatever those little square things were, they packed a whallop.

He stayed silent as they hoisted him back into the manacles, groaning through clenched teeth at the pull on his shoulders and back. Kathryn had crowded to his side of her cage the moment they entered the room, but he carefully didn’t look at her until the guards cleared the cell.

“Are you all right?” she demanded the minute he met her eyes.

Shaking his head slightly, he eyed the doorway and the guard. How to do this without attracting attention? Gingerly, he pushed his head towards the cage, as close as he could get.

“Chakotay?” Kathryn sounded both worried and confused now. Her hands slipped from where she had been gently running over his arm, down to cup his face. “What is it?”

He just shook his head again, darting a glance towards the door.

Still confused, she looked at the door herself, then back towards him. He leaned into one of her hands, then pursed his lips, hoping like hell she’d get the pantomime.

“This hardly seems like the time or place,” she grumbled, sounding uncertain if she should be angry or if she’d gotten the wrong end of the stick. He leaned forward further, manacles digging into his wrists.

“Stop before you hurt yourself,” she admonished in a fierce whisper. “Fine. Just… fine.” Taking a deep breath she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

Not one to miss taking an advantage, even an unexpected one, Chakotay pressed his lips deeply to hers, savoring the moment. Then, he parted his lips and shoved the key that had been hidden in his mouth over to rest on her tongue.

Making a slight choking noise, she drew away and hurried to turn her back to the doorway before spitting the key into her palm.

“Should I even ask,” she whispered, leaning out to very quietly unlock his right manacle.

“Please don’t,” he said, taking the key from her to take off the left manacle before circling the hanging cage to find the door. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m flexible.”

The clearly involuntary intrigued noise that Kathryn made before she turned bright red would live in his memory for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 01 Oct 2020 Prompts:  
> Fictober: “no, come back!”  
> Trektober: First Kiss  
> Whumptober: Let’s Hang Out Sometime  
> Inktober: Fish  
> OTPtober: First Date


	2. 02 October 2373

With a pained grunt, Kathryn caught herself on her hands and knees as the guard shoved her violently into a new cell. Pushing herself to her feet, she spun back towards the door, just in time to see it shut with an ominous ‘thud’ and the sound of a lock.

“Should keep ‘em contained this time,” she heard one guard mutter to the other as they moved away from the door.

Striding to the door, she kept herself from slamming her fist against it at the last moment. A broken hand wouldn’t help Chakotay with whatever he was facing now, back in the hands of their enemy.

Huffing under her breath, she scrutinized the door running her hands – lightly – over the hinges. This cell didn’t seem as though it would have much to yield to a systematic search, but it was all she could do at the moment. That and wonder what was happening to Chakotay somewhere on the other side of this door.

* * *

“Oof,” Kathryn wrapped her arms around as much of Chakotay as she could given the awkward angle, and tried to ease their descent to the floor. The snick of the lock sliding into place she ignored, focused on assessing the new injuries of her First Officer. More cuts, more bruises, and a head injury that looked worrying.

“Well, that could have gone better.” She tried to keep her tone light even as she carefully maneuvered Chakotay’s head into her lap.

“Next time, we go left,” he slurred, squinting up at her through what must be one hell of a headache. “Got the measure of that stocky one though, almost had him on the ropes.” His eyes slid shut.

“‘On the ropes?’” she questioned, hoping to coax him into staying awake. “That’s some sort of fighting terminology, isn’t it?”

“Mm,” he hummed, then grimaced. “Boxing. Out of practice, though. Boothby would’ve hit me over the head for not ducking that last one.”

“I might agree with him,” she murmured, trying to gently determine the scope of his head wound. Her fingers paused. “Wait, Boothby? Mr. Boothby, from the Academy?”

“Yeah,” she looked down to see that he had pried his eyes open again. “You knew him? Course you did,” he answered his own question, “he’s more of a Starfleet institute than some of the buildings.”

Kathryn blew out a breath of a laugh. “That he is,” she agreed. “He used to give me roses for my quarters.”

A grin tugged at the corners of Chakotay’s mouth.

“What?”

“Just imagining a tiny Cadet Janeway,” the grin spread even as his eyes drifted shut again. “Bet they didn’t know what hit them.”

If he hadn’t looked so pathetic, Kathryn would have poked him in the ribs. “I was a fine cadet, thank you very much. What about ‘tiny Cadet Chakotay?’” Involuntarily, a grin spread across her own features. “I bet you were adorable.”

“Were?” His attempt at sounding insulted would have been more convincing if he wasn't still smiling.

“Fishing for compliments?” she returned to probing the edge of the wound. It was deep, as she feared, although it had clotted and stopped bleeding freely, at least.

“Probably go about as well as our other fishing today,” he grumbled.

“Yesterday,” she corrected absently. Noticing that he had slit one eye open to convey his confusion, she nodded towards the wisps of light sneaking through the high, barred window and beginning to lighten the corners of their cell. “Our escape was in the late evening, and they had you for the rest of it once they got hold of us again. If we figure a way out of this cell, _when_ we do, I’m not sure leaving in broad daylight will help us or hurt us.”

“Oh, getting out,” Chakotay seemed unconcerned as her hand drifted from his head and followed down the curve of his chin, “that’s the easy part. Now, ducking, that’s where the challenge comes in. Also,” he announced, cheek pressing into her hand as he smiled at her undignified snort, “next time we are definitely going left.”

“Fine,” she gave in. “Not that either of us knows our way out of here, but the next time we have to guess, we’ll guess left. I’m hoping that someone will tell the Magistrate we’re here at some point today. He can clear this up without either of us having to pick the lock, let alone escape. Voyager must be looking for us by now.”

When she didn’t receive even a noise of acknowledgement, Kathryn gently tapped his cheek, then flicked his nose. The face he pulled was endearing, and she focused on that over the relief that he was still reacting.

“Stay with me, Commander,” she let her voice take on some of her Command tone. “Just until the sun is fully up. If you haven’t started displaying any other symptoms by then, I’ll let you sleep.”

“Need to be working on how to get out of here,” Chakotay sighed and made another valiant effort to open his eyes.

She shook her head. “In the daylight, I think official channels will be our best bet. I’ll keep an eye out for the guard rotations and any security gaps. If we haven’t been freed by nightfall, we can try again then.”

The silence was doubtful, but she didn’t think he had the fight in him to argue with her.

“Fine,” he agreed, “but if I’m to stay awake, I’ll need some incentive.”

Kathryn swore her eyebrow hit her hairline against her will as she looked down into a pair of tired, but twinkling eyes. “Oh? What exactly did you have in mind?”

“I’d say stories of tiny Cadet Janeway might do the trick,” his dimples deepened – a telltale sign he was trying to bite back a smile.

“Tell you what,” she leaned closer, as though relaying a dark secret, “I’ll consider a trade. One tiny Cadet Janeway story for one tiny Cadet Chakotay. Deal?”

Dimples unleashed, he attempted a solemn nod, before wincing and dispensing with the effort. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 02 Oct 2020 Prompts:  
> Trektober: Academy Era  
> Whumptober: In the Hands of the Enemy  
> Fictober: “that's the easy part"  
> OTPtober: Lazy afternoon naps/Waking each other up  
> Inktober: Wisp


	3. 03 October 2373

Chakotay straightened his cuffs as the turbolift doors opened, and headed down the hall. If someone had told him a couple of years ago that he would be grateful and relieved to be back in a Starfleet uniform, he would never have believed them. Actually, he probably would have suspected they were a traitor to the Maquis cause and kicked them off his ship, but that was perhaps taken the point too far.

But he was relieved to be back in the black and red – even if only as an improvement over the itchy, unwashed prison tunic and trousers. Other feelings about this uniform could wait for another day, when he’d gotten over the pleasure of being clean and warm and not in pain.

Coming to a stop in front of the Captain’s quarters, Chakotay buzzed for entry and the door opened immediately. A delicious smell assailed him as he stepped inside and the door slid shut behind him.

“That smells amazing,” he sniffed. “Mushroom soup? How did Neelix make mushroom soup?”

“He didn’t,” Kathryn turned from where she was taking two glasses from the replicator. “I thought we needed something a little better than Leola Root Surprise to wash the memory of prison gruel away.”

“You did this?” He hoped that his tone hit ‘what a pleasant surprise,’ but had a feeling it missed the mark and took a turn into incredulity. Which he absolutely was, but it was poor manners to insult the cook. It was probably also poor manners to give into the desire to scan the food before he ate it – but the temptation not to have to visit sickbay twice in one day ran high.

“It’s just water,” she remarked, passing over one of the glasses. “The Doctor would have _my_ head if I gave you something that might slow down the healing of _yours_. And yes, I did cook,” she continued, with a steely look in her eye that practically dared him to say something.

Chakotay took a sip of water instead. “It smells amazing,” he repeated after swallowing, and resigned himself to seeing the Doctor again.

Unexpectedly, Kathryn grinned and shook her head. “Oh, get that worried look off of your face. It’s one hundred percent guaranteed. Tom was going to save you some of whatever was most edible when you missed the main dinner hour, but I told him that I was planning to make something instead.” She sighed and ran a hand over her face that did nothing to disguise the smile that seemed poised between amused and rueful. “Next thing I knew, Tom had designed the programming, B’Elanna updated the maintenance on Ol’ Smoky over there,” she gestured towards her replicator, “and Harry tweaked the ordering mechanism. I’m surprised they actually let me put in the order.”

Looking at the glass in his hand, Chakotay wished that he could take a drink to buy some time. He knew the urge to laugh that he was desperately trying to quell would just cause him to choke, though. Despite his struggle, a snort of laughter made it through and he clapped a hand to his mouth in hopes that would keep the rest of it in.

“Oh, go ahead,” she was trying to sound exasperated, but her own laughter was ruining the effort. Relieved that her sense of humor had come through their latest ordeal just fine, he lowered his hand. “It’s nice to know they have such faith in me,” she mock-grumbled.

“Well, I’m certain that Tuvok does,” he rubbed at one cheek that was beginning to ache from smiling and inhaled deeply.

Kathryn huffed. “You just missed him. He came to scan the food while it was in stasis. ‘It would not be logical to cause a setback in either your own or the Commander’s condition after the Doctor has just returned you to a state of good health.’”

Chakotay gave up and sat down on the couch, giving himself over to his laughter. A sway in the couch and warmth at his side clued him in that the Captain had joined him on the couch. The poke to his ribs was a pretty strong hint, as well.

Breathing through the last of his chuckles, he wiped at his streaming eyes, and turned his head to meet hers. “Well, there’s always me,” he told her, letting her decide whether to treat it as part of the fun or as the declaration that is was.

“Yes,” the smile remained on her lips, but her eyes were serious, “and don’t think I’m not grateful for that every day.” Silence stretched between them for a moment, before she ducked her head. “I suppose I should be grateful they chose such a useful outlet for their worry.” At his look of confusion, she explained, “I doubt you were in any condition to remember, but by the time our staff bullied the prison warden into releasing us you were,” she hesitated, “far from lucid.”

The Doctor had given him the run-down of his state, so he knew the depths of that understatement. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“Chakotay,” if looks could phaser, he would have been stricken – although it was thankfully set on ‘stun,’ “it’s hardly your fault.”

He shook his head and cast about for a change of subject, “Did you say ‘bully?’”

Kathryn’s smile returned at that, although this one had a tinge of the bloodthirsty about it. “Once Voyager figured out we were missing, they contacted the Magistrate, who tracked down where we were. He told the prison that we had permission to be on his land, but by that time we had already attempted to escape and they were reluctant to release us. I’ve been assured that everyone is working on their reports, but I have yet to see the write up of how exactly our release was secured.” She rolled her eyes, “They were all too eager to repeat that the Doctor told them I wasn’t to work for another day. Given the glee with which I heard a crewman in the mess hall reenacting a scene that included the phrase ‘my way or the highway,’ I suspect they are coordinating their stories and hoping to gloss over a few details.”

“Which you won’t let them get away with,” Chakotay finished.

She hummed, and tilted her head. “Which I might let them get away with,” she corrected. “Provided they accurately relay the events, I might overlook it if they leave out a few choice phrases.”

He squinted at her. “Is this part of the ‘punch your way through’ school of diplomacy?”

That surprised a bark of laughter. “Let’s call it a caution against hypocrisy. There’s not much I wouldn’t do to get my people back. They shouldn’t take on that responsibility for us,” her hand motion included the both of them as the command staff, “but I find it hard to blame them for it. Besides, I know what you looked like when we finally got out of there.”

A touch to his head had him turning to face her, as her fingertips ghosted over the site of his recent injury. He remembered little of their time in the prison cell after she finally let him sleep. Snatches of her voice, whispering to him softly or pitched low and threatening somewhere over his head, the pain that settled into a constant background irritation, the cold that crept over him as time wore on, but nothing concrete.

“I might be the next focus of their ire, however,” Kathryn broke the silence, sounding determinedly upbeat, “if I let this grow cold instead of you eating it. They were remarkably stubborn; we should at least enjoy the fruits of their labor before we have to quell any further diplomatic urges.”

He took the hand offered, though he stood up under his own power. “Stubborn?” he mused aloud, letting her lead them back to a lighter plane. “Is that really a charge you’re even allowed to level at someone else,” he raised an eyebrow as he followed her to the table.

She turned back to fire her next salvo when her eye seemed to light on something that turned her crooked smile to chagrin.

“What?” he half-turned to see what had caught her attention.

“Don’t you dare tell them about this,” she threatened, stepping back to the replicator. “Tom programmed in a wonderful looking dessert, but I thought I could manage that myself. My mother always made the best caramel brownies, I wanted to share them with you. How hard could brownies be?” Turning back around, he saw that her hands held a plate with a heaped stack of incredibly dark squares. Nearly black, actually.

Crossing to her, Chakotay tried to pick the top-most square off of the pile and found himself holding the entire bulky mass. Somehow, they had all fused together during the replication process.

“Perhaps a centerpiece?” he tried, looking carefully up at her through his lashes. Her streak of perfectionism had yet to stretch to her cooking, but given that it was a special recipe he hoped she would still be good-humored about the result.

“Straight to the recycler,” she shook her head, but her smile seemed undimmed and he relaxed. “And not one word,” she cautioned again.

“On my honor,” he raised his hand, then reconsidered and added, “provided that the senior staff really did make the rest of the meal.”

Kathryn gave him her most exasperated look as she recycled the evidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 03 Oct 2020 Prompts:  
> Whumptober: My Way or the Highway  
> Trektober: In Uniform  
> Fictober: “you did this?”  
> OTPtober: A cooking B's favorite meal as a surprise  
> Inktober: Bulky


	4. 04 October 2373

He was running out of time. Two more, he just needed to find two more, but there was no time. There! A flash of blue in the corner of his eye. He changed course quickly, hand outstretched, and leaped.

The old-fashioned two-way radio at his waist crackled.

“Done!” a triumphant voice yelled.

A buzzing sound echoed over the landscape.

He fell to the ground, resigned, eyes closing, fingertips just grazing blue softness.

* * *

“What are you doing up there?” Kathryn craned her neck back to try and see more of the inside of the tower.

“I was beginning to wonder that myself,” he was remarkably cheery, for someone sitting in a tower window with no apparent way down. “Should I take up a hobby? Learn to knit? While the prince is battling dragons and hacking their way through the forest, what does a princess do?”

“A princess?” she shaded her eyes with one hand, the better to see if he had suffered another head injury. “Is there something you want to share with me, Chakotay?”

“I have been informed that anyone can be a princess, Captain,” she was told. “You just have to be polite, take care of animals nicely, and eat all of your vegetables. I won the role of princess fair and square by losing a round of Monster Hunting.”

Ignoring the question of what, exactly, Monster Hunting entailed, Kathryn picked up on the salient point of the sentence. “So you lost and the penalty was being locked in a tower,” she smirked up at the prisoner. “Should I let B’Elanna know about that rule before your next match?”

“That cuts both ways, Captain,” he reminded her. “I believe you’re playing Velocity with her at the end of the week.”

“How exactly are you supposed to get down?” she turned the question without answering, which didn’t prevent him from looking smug.

“My brave knight was on her way, but appears to have been waylaid gathering flowers,” Chakotay squinted down at something in his hand.

“Security feed?” she guessed. He shook his head and held up something that resembled nothing so much as a weirdly elongated, very thick PADD. “What is that?”

“Harry created it,” he turned the device back to watch once more. “Tom is calling it a ‘two-way radio,’ after something that was apparently popular in the twentieth century. Although it didn’t have visual capabilities, he doesn’t believe. I think it’s like an old-fashioned comm – with added visuals.”

It was Kathryn’s turn to shake her head, with a rueful smile. “Another Tom and Harry collaboration? Between those two and B’Elanna, we’re going to get back with a whole ship full of devices Starfleet will want explanations for.”

Chakotay just responded with a muted half-grin. Mentally, she kicked herself. Conversations about Starfleet – not the concrete Starfleet existence of Voyager, not the nebulous Starfleet ideals they cleaved to, but Starfleet as an entity awaiting them back in the Alpha Quadrant – were tense between them, full of the silence of unspoken questions and ungiven answers. Kathryn knew that Chakotay did not regret sacrificing his ship for theirs, working to become one crew, forging the bonds that held this one small ship together in the vastness of unfamiliar territory, and even agreeing to operate under Starfleet parameters. What she did not know were his opinions on that entity lurking at the other end of this long journey. Unchanged from when he left his commission and career behind to fight against the organization he once served? Softened by the reminder that the Starfleet Kathryn tried to represent, the Starfleet of high ideals with a mission of peace and coexistence, had not died in the betrayal of the Cardassian treaty?

Ambassador Spock had once famously stated that one should never ask a question for which one was not prepared to hear the answer.

“So, minus one brave, flower-picking knight, what are your escape plans?” she brazened onwards.

“Once the knight appears, I’m supposed to throw this down,” Chakotay reached back into the darkened tower room and hoisted something up, which he waved at her. It looked like a rope of some kind. “Then the knight climbs up and presumably that’s the end. I think this quest is about out of time, though. I suppose I could always climb down. Watch out.” He tossed it out of the window as Kathryn stepped back to keep clear of the falling end. It _was_ a rope, braided from three sections. She moved back once the end settled to the ground and gave it a firm tug to check the hold.

“Seems sturdy enough,” she called up.

“Good. I’m coming, oof.”

“Chakotay?” she tilted her head upwards again. “Are you all right?”

“Seems the princess isn’t supposed to show that much initiative,” he called down. “There’s some sort of force field over the window.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well, now I understand why it was the losing role.”

Kathryn grinned. “If the mountain can’t come to Mohammed,” she muttered, took a firmer grip on the rope, braced her feet on the tower wall, and started to climb.

“Kathryn, what are you doing?”

“One substitute brave knight on the way.” It was an easy climb and she soon reached the window ledge, helped over it by a very amused princess.

Once standing on the stone floor of the tower, she had only a moment to look around before the scene dissolved, leaving them in the stark gray cube of Holodeck 1.

“Flowers?” an upset voice called, and they both swung around to locate the source.

Naomi looked back at them, face twisting on the edge of distress, before she recognized one of her favorite people on the ship. “Captain!” Excited, she toddled over at a run and wrapped her arms around Kathryn’s legs.

“Hello there, brave knight,” she reached down and hoisted Naomi onto her hip. “I hear that you’re a better monster hunter than our Commander.”

“Uh huh,” Naomi agreed with a big smile, then looked over at Chakotay in confusion. “Not locked in tower?”

“It’s about time for knights, monster hunters, _and_ princesses to have dinner,” Kathryn told her. “I climbed up to rescue the Commander so we could go see Neelix.”

“Neelix!” Naomi shrieked in glee. Kathryn leaned away as best she could in deference to her hearing. Satisfied that Naomi would leave play time behind without a fuss, she turned towards the Holdeck door.

“But oh no,” Naomi squirmed in her arms until she was set back onto her feet.

“Oh no, what, Naomi?” Chakotay asked, patiently.

“Kiss!” she crowed triumphantly.

“What?” Kathryn looked down at her in surprise.

“Brave knight rescued princess and gets kiss,” Naomi explained seriously, then ordered, “Kiss, ‘Mander.”

Voyager’s Captain looked at her First Officer awkwardly, only to find him sporting a grin rather than a sympathetic expression.

“Something amusing, Commander?” her tone was acid, she knew, but his dimples just deepened.

“Well, we can’t break the rules, Captain,” he shook his head solemnly. “I’ll just have to kiss my brave rescuer.”

“Commander,” she said, trying not to reprimand him in front of Naomi, “don’t be ridiculous. We can’t…”

“That didn’t stop you before,” he murmured, grin turning wicked.

Before she could protest being held to account for actions that had occurred in a prison of all places in the course of an escape attempt – and at what she thought was his request – Chakotay swept both of her hands up in his. Bowing over them, he softly brushed the lightest of kisses over her knuckles.

“Just like a fairy tale, right, Naomi?” he released her hands and smiled down at the little girl.

“Happy ever after!” she announced, and held up her arms to be carried off into the sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Running Out of Time  
> Trektober: Monster Hunting/Aliens Made Them Do It/Sex in a Vehicle  
> Fictober: “that didn’t stop you before”  
> OTPtober: Little kisses/Favorite spots to kiss  
> Inktober: Radio


	5. 05 October 2373

“Unacceptable, try again.”

The Doctor set down the tricorder and gave him an unimpressed look. To be fair, the Doctor generally looked unimpressed with his patients, considering they typically were doing their level best to weasel out of Sick Bay before they were healed – but this was a special level of unimpressed. It was as though ‘unimpressed’ had teamed up with ‘you must be kidding me’ and just barely reined in the resulting offspring from tiptoeing over the line into ‘let me locate the one remaining brain cell you must have mislaid in the last two minutes.’

“Commander, I could scan you fifty more times and the results would be the same. You sustained a severe head injury, compounded with other repeated blows to the skull. Not to mention the other trauma to your body. I have fixed the most severe of the damage, but you need rest to complete the healing process. As much as I would love to give you a hypospray and magically heal you, medicine doesn’t work that way.”

“Fine, I’ll rest, but I can still perform light duty,” Chakotay bargained.

“Light duty? Would that be the actual definition of light duty, or the definition where you spend only ten hours of the day working instead of eleven? I can scan you again tomorrow, Commander, but at your current rate of healing it will most likely be at least three days before I’m comfortable signing you off for light duty. _Actual_ light duty.” The Doctor turned away and busied himself tidying up the medical tray. It was a signal for dismissal, given that he couldn’t actually dismiss a Commander. Chakotay wasn’t willing to go down without a fight, however.

“The Captain went through the same experience I did, and she was back on duty yesterday.” It was a shameless level to sink to, but one day off was enough. Being the one person with nothing to do on a ship full of bustling, busy people was excruciatingly boring. He’d meditated, tidied his quarters, worked on a sand painting until he developed a headache, napped to get rid of said headache without having to confess it to the Doctor, babysat Naomi, had dinner in the mess hall with the Captain, and gone to bed early. He was fresh out of ideas for day two.

“The Captain suffered milder injuries that required less time and rest to heal. However, she’s only approved for light duty. She should have plenty of time left to commiserate with you.”

Chakotay kept his face poker straight.

The Doctor sighed.

“Computer, what were the duty hours logged by the Captain yesterday?”

**_Captain Kathryn Janeway logged ten duty hours yesterday_ **

“Snitch,” Chakotay muttered.

“I’ll deal with that later. You, Commander, are not cleared for duty yet. Any duty. Please go, rest, relax. Try not to do anything that will be too taxing. I’ll see you tomorrow for another check-up.”

* * *

Technically, he had obeyed the Doctor’s orders to the letter. He hadn’t been working. He had been conducting an experiment, for fun. Fun was relaxing, maybe even restful.

More importantly, fun meant that he didn’t have to log the hours as work.

Transporter Room 2 had been experiencing an intermittent glitch with non-biological elements. It was infrequent and easily remedied, so it wasn’t high on the repair list given the other priority items. However, also given that he currently had _no_ priority items, it had rapidly moved up his personal list.

For fun, he reminded himself, just as the Doctor stopped muttering to himself and directed his attention back to Chakotay.

“If you wanted additional time off duty, Commander, there was no need to go to these lengths. As I told you this morning, there is no way that you will be ready for light duty for several more days. A span that will increase,” the Doctor’s voice raised with his ire, “if you insist on adding more injuries to the ones that I’ve already treated while performing duties that I haven’t cleared you for!”

“I wasn’t working,” he stuck in while the Doctor paused to draw breath. Given that as a hologram he didn’t really need to breathe, Chakotay assumed it was for dramatic emphasis.

“No? You thought you’d just stroll down to Transporter Room 2 to take in the sights?”

“I was conducting an experiment. Science is relaxing.”

“We seem to have vastly different interpretations of relaxing. I find light opera relaxing. Lieutenant Paris has an alarmingly increasing number of holodeck programs. Even the Captain has a few books when someone can pry her out of her Ready Room. Might I recommend looking into one of these hobbies, rather than one that results in a dagger through your gastrocnemius! I would suggest knitting, but I’m not sure you can be trusted with sharp objects.”

“I thought you were checked out in the morning?” Both men looked up sharply, to see the Captain had arrived while they were arguing. “What happened?” Something in Chakotay relaxed at her presence. He didn’t know if it should be called a habit, a compulsion, or a ritual by this point, but whenever one of them showed up in Sick Bay, the other wasn’t far behind. This time, apparently, without even being summoned.

“The Commander saw fit to disobey my medical orders,” the Doctor was quick off the mark. “He’s not cleared for duty yet.”

“I was conducting an experiment,” he had a story and was going to see it through, even if his audience had expanded.

The Captain, for it was very much his commanding officer and not Kathryn who was appraising him at the moment, eyed his leg.

“And the details of this experiment?” she asked after a moment.

“I was wondering what element or elements have been triggering our transporter malfunctions. So, I was experimenting with a sample set. For science. For fun.”

He was nearly positive that he saw her lips twitch.

“I do like science,” she admitted, “but fail to see how this landed you in medical with a dagger through your calf.”

“Not a dagger,” the Doctor corrected dourly, “a d’k tahg. Why do we even have a Klingon weapon on board?”

“B’Elanna gave it to me,” he shrugged. “It’s a long story. But I may have misjudged the length of time that the baakonite would remain unstable after transport.”

It took a beat, but the Captain translated before the Doctor could ask. “The molecular components of the dagger moved and reformed inside your calf.”

“It stabbed me,” Chakotay confirmed, glaring down at the weapon protruding from his leg. “But I think we can definitely narrow down the problematic elements to the metallic ones.”

“A study that someone else will get the joy of undertaking,” the Doctor interrupted. “In case my previous instructions were in any way unclear, you are not cleared to work or conduct any further experiments. For fun or otherwise. Doctor’s orders.”

“Captain’s orders as well. Sorry, Commander,” and a hint of Kathryn peeked through in her half-smile, “but a slip like this isn’t like you in full health.”

Chakotay scowled, but couldn’t refute the claim. He’d been fatigued by the end, and clumsy with it. Patting his shoulder lightly – touch a part of this ritual that was sometimes the only bright spot of medical – the Captain turned to go.

“Where do you think you’re going, Captain? Full health is the very subject I asked to see you about,” he ostentatiously turned to look at the time piece on the nearby medical monitor, “four hours ago.”

“It’s been a busy day, Doctor, but I’m here now. How can I help you?”

“By being less busy. You are only authorized for light duty yet, Captain. That includes reduced hours. You’re off duty and will remain so through 0900 tomorrow.”

“0900,” her repetition cut the words short, even as her eyes widened past what could possibly be healthy. “I think you’ll find that is simply not possible, Doctor.”

“I think you’ll find that I don’t care, Captain.” At the lowering of her brow, he held up a placating hand. “You’re still healing. You may have gotten off lighter than the Commander, but that doesn’t mean you’re back to full strength yet. If you won’t adhere to the guidance for light duty, I will rescind my authorization until you’re ready for full duty. I don’t want to do that, but you are my patient as well as my Captain.”

Chakotay could see the desire to argue that swelled into her throat, the battle with logic that waged for a moment in the press of her lips, and the final acknowledgement that she couldn’t fight this one without being in the wrong soften around the edges of her eyes. It would be nice if part of their medical ritual would be winning the inevitable fight with the Doctor, but this was not the day that would change, it seemed.

“Fine,” she ground out, “but I should at least finish out my shift today. Surely that’s within the boundaries of ‘light duty.’”

The Doctor shook his head. “Computer,” he addressed the ship, moving away to collect the equipment needed to heal Chakotay’s leg, “what are the duty hours logged by the Captain today?”

**_Captain Kathryn Janeway has logged nine duty hours today_ **

“Snitch,” Kathryn muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Where Do You Think You’re Going?  
> Trektober: Pining/Transporter Malfunctions/Public Sex  
> Fictober: “unacceptable, try again”  
> OTPtober: Rituals  
> Inktober: Blade


	6. 06 October 2373

She was fairly certain that this was not what the Doctor had meant by ‘light duty’ – or ‘no duty’ she amended, glancing to the left at her First Officer – but the Delta Quadrant did not bend to medical orders, in spite of the Doctor’s best efforts.

The alien on the view screen chose that moment to deign to begin speaking to them again and Kathryn dragged her attention back to matters at hand. When they had first hailed the other ship, she would have politely described the alien as having sharp features, with interesting cultural sartorial choices and a name that was probably quite honorable on his home world. Now, four hours later, after said alien persisted in trying to turn first contact into a bickering match, interspersing verbal salvos with weapons fire – she was more than prepared to call him a rat with a ridiculous ruff and a fitting name.

“Captain Squeak,” she took her fiercest tone. It was easier not to laugh now that she had been fired upon by the overgrown rodent. “If you do not wish to have further contact, that is fine by me, but if you continue to prevent this ship from leaving I will respond with all available force.”

A volley rocked the ship, jarring loose a conduit and sparking a fire at the back of the command deck.

“Tuvok, return fire from both phaser banks. Don’t bother going easy on them anymore, hit where it'll hurt – take out weapons or, failing that, environmental. That should keep them too busy to attack us,” Kathryn ordered, “Lieutenant, find a course that will get us the hell out of here.” Even as she dispensed commands, a small part of her mind listened for the whirring of fire suppression. It never came.

“Fire suppression systems are offline,” Harry called, looking caught between maintaining his post and putting out the fire.

Chakotay cursed, moving across to the science station to pull an extinguisher out from under the console.

“Owens,” she called and motioned for him to do the same with the engineering station. Resolutely ignoring the sounds and heat behind her, trusting Chakotay to handle the situation, she stepped down to helm and studied their position on one of the side monitor star charts.

“If we go through most of a Beta-3 evasive pattern, then cut straight port at the apex we might be able to break free of the ring. A bit of clear running and we should have the clearance to jump to warp,” Tom suggested rapid-fire as he swung from one side of helm to the other, trying to keep Voyager one step ahead of the incoming fire.

Scrutinizing the chart, Kathryn let the scenario play out in the bare seconds she had. It was risky, but better than staying here while three ships hammered at them.

“Do it,” she ordered and announced the plan to the Bridge.

“All hands, brace for sharp turns,” Tuvok announced, attention focused on the boards in front of him.

“Their status?” she called, hoping the enemy ships might be distracted by damage and make their escape easier.

“The lead ship has lost their port weapons and environmental is damaged. The other two have taken damage, but not enough to fully incapacitate either system.”

“I’ll take it. Keep them hopping, Tuvok.”

“Aye, Captain,” he answered. It was level, but Kathryn could hear the implied eyebrow. She’d have to ask him later if he had wanted to tell her that he would of course continue performing his duties, or ask how ‘keep them hopping’ was supposed to be construed as an official order. Should he perhaps target their gravity controls, Captain?

She moved back up to the command deck, checking on the fire damage. Chakotay’s chair looked to be a complete write-off, a blackened husk of its former self. Chakotay himself, extinguisher tucked into his side, had an arm wound through the rear railing, bracing his back against a post. Frowning, she motioned for him to take her seat, following it up with a verbal order when he shook his head in seeming confusion.

“Commander, take my chair,” she turned to brace herself against the forward railing before the protest she could see forming was voiced. It was a damn chair, not captaincy of the ship. He was terribly sensitive to the slightest indication that he might be stepping on the toes of her command. But only one of them had suffered a critical injury in the last week, and it wasn’t Kathryn. He wasn’t even supposed to be on duty and his reflexes were still off, although he insisted that he was perfectly fine. She wondered if she was that transparent when trapped by medical orders. Surely not.

The first hard curve of the pattern cut her musings short and her attention sharpened to the battle around them.

“The aft ship has lost gravitational controls,” Tuvok announced calmly as Tom sent them into a dip that nearly had her wrapped around the railing.

“Good,” she wheezed. “Keep on them. How are we doing, Ensign Kim?”

“No severe damage to report, Captain. Some burst conduits, and small fires. Only minor injuries so far.” Harry, at least, sounded a little breathless as well.

“Preparing to cut away, Captain,” Tom called over his shoulder.

“Acknowledged,” she announced, even as Tuvok commed another warning ship-wide for the crew to brace themselves.

The next few moments were a blur of motion, the view screen moving sideways so fast as to be almost nauseating. Kathryn held on for dear life, a fleeting thought passing through her mind that the Academy should really have more training on how not to get tossed off your own command deck. From behind her she heard a shout indicating that at least one member of her crew had lost their grip. Grimly, she held on for the rough ride to finish before she could check on them.

“We’re in the clear, Captain,” Tom called, sounding as though he’d pushed Voyager through the turns by sheer will alone. For all she knew, he had. The best pilots seemed to have some strange connection to their ships.

“Understood, run her if you have to, but get us to warp as soon as possible,” she tentatively straightened and loosed her hold on the railing, stretching her numb fingers. “Janeway to Engineering. Prepare to engage warp engines.”

“We’re standing by, Captain,” Torres’ voice answered. She seemed calm, for B’Elanna, which meant Engineering must have emerged relatively unscathed. That was a mercy.

“Two of the ships are in pursuit,” Tuvok announced.

“Going to warp… now.”

Kathryn felt the kick of the warp engines beneath her feet and her shoulders unclenched. “I want us at least 2000 kilometers away before we drop below maximum, Lieutenant. Let’s shake them from our tails.”

“Understood,” Tom swung to the opposite side of the helm, the better to keep tabs on the engine stress that maximum warp could cause.

“And Tom,” she waited for him to look over at her before she smiled, “nice work. That was impressive, Lieutenant.”

“Well, I’ve never much liked rats,” he hid his emotions behind a quip, as usual, but she could see his back straighten and shoulders loosen under the praise.

Satisfied that Voyager was as safe as she could be for the moment, Kathryn turned to check on her crew. Tuvok was working steadily, probably pulling reports, and Perez had taken the Ops post. Chakotay was on the upper deck, kneeling over a prone Ensign Kim.

“Report,” she called, feet moving for the upper deck and heart standing still for a painful second. _Please…_ some inward part of her pleaded.

“He’s safe to move,” Chakotay answered the call, knowing the only report the Captain would care about at the moment, with Voyager safely fleeing. “Going to have one hell of a back ache, though.” He smiled reassuringly down at Harry, which Kathryn tried to echo over the renewed thudding of her pulse as she reached them.

Chakotay looked up at her, and she almost lost the smile she had summoned. The stress of the fight had clearly burned through what reserves he still had after the past week. He looked gray around the lips and the shadows under his eyes were deep.

“Janeway to Transporter Room,” she tapped her badge. “Beam Ensign Kim directly to Sick Bay.”

“Aye Captain.” The acknowledgement had barely faded before Harry shimmered away.

“Head down there,” she motioned towards the turbolift with her chin. “I’ll get there when I can.”

His brow furrowed, but it was a reasonable enough request to have him check on the injured crew while she was busy with mop up. The fact that the Doctor would take one look at him and have him in a biobed next to Harry in a split second was an ulterior motive that she hoped he wouldn’t cotton on to just yet.

As Chakotay began to get his feet under him, moving at a concerningly slow speed, Kathryn slid a hand under his upper arm to brace him to his feet. Sheepish, he nodded his thanks to her. Bypassing all higher brain processes and conscious permission, her fingers gave into the impulse of the moment and tucked a piece of his hair that was sticking out at a right angle back into place. Snatching her fingers back, she turned away from his amused look and motioned to Crewman Firetz.

“Check with the Doctor to see where he needs field medics,” she ordered, and then tilted her head at the Commander’s back as he moved to the turbolift. Firetz followed up his verbal affirmation with a nod of his own, which reassured her. He’d make certain that Chakotay made it safely to Sick Bay without collapsing on the way.

Now she just needed to get her ship back in order.

“Damage reports,” she ordered, stepping down to the command deck as the litany of damages began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Please…  
> Trektober: Neighbors/Captain’s Chair/Lingerie  
> Fictober: “that was impressive”  
> OTPtober: Doing each other’s hair  
> Inktober: Rodent


	7. 07 October 2373

“A little birdie told me that someone rearranged the shore leave roster so that Harry, B’Elanna, and Tom’s leave coincided.”

“Tuvok,” Chakotay stated. It couldn’t be called a guess when said in such a definite tone.

“A birdie,” Kathryn corrected, glancing over at him with a twinkle in her eye as they strode across a length of field, heading towards a not-too-distant copse of trees.

Chakotay rolled his eyes before turning them to appreciate once more the stunning beauty of the planet. The field that rolled before them was covered in lush foliage of the lightest blue, similar in appearance to Earth wheat, but short and soft underfoot. The trees arching in the distance were also covered in blue leaves, but in as many hues of blue as could possibly exist in the universe, with trunks of a deep, dark red. The overjoyed science team had reported back in a deluge of multisyllabic words that the coloration of the flora was due to a unique relationship between the foliage and a beneficial bacterium. They had also reported back that it was nutrient-rich and perfectly safe for crew consumption. Neelix was overjoyed. The crew was single-mindedly devoted to assuming that the plants had to taste better than leola root.

It was a strange landscape, but idyllic. When the damage reports had finished rolling in from yesterday’s battle, it was a fortunate coincidence that it had turned up on their scans. Time spent in a low-energy orbit around an empty, yet pleasant planet, meant time to fix their latest bumps and bruises with downtime for the entire crew before they had to plunge back into whatever the Delta Quadrant threw at them next.

“Yes, I did, what about it?” he turned from the loveliness of the landscape to the loveliness of the woman next to him, “Did Tuvok, my apologies, did this pointy-eared birdie have concerns?”

“Just about having so many senior officers off-ship at the same time. But with the three of us still onboard, it seemed negligible,” Kathryn shrugged. “They'll certainly come back in high spirits.”

“And all in one piece.”

“Is that a concern?” A frown crossed her face momentarily. “The Doctor cleared Harry for full duty, surely shore leave tomorrow after a day of rest won’t tax him.”

“Haven’t you noticed those three tend to get into, perhaps not trouble, but difficulties on their own? Or even when it’s just two of them? All three together, though, seems to reduce the jeopardy quotient,” he kept his face straight, but was fairly certain she wasn’t taken in.

“And just what do you think is the cause for this ideal jeopardy quotient equation?” No, he definitely hadn’t fooled her for a second.

“Well,” he paused, noticing that their progress across the field had slowed. To his chagrin, he noted that it was likely his fault. Distracted by the conversation, his pace had dwindled to a meander. Taking a larger step, he was stalled by Kathryn threading her arm through his.

“There’s no rush,” she counselled, tucking her shoulder companionably next to his, “I just want to appreciate the landscape. We don’t seem to find non-deadly and scenic planets very often.”

Chakotay covered her hand with his own, and let her set the pace at a stroll. He suspected she was coddling him. The Doctor had read him the riot act after his activity on the Bridge the previous day and she had been there for the end of it. True, the fallout of the adrenaline rush had left him a bit shaky, but once that was past he thought that he’d recovered just fine. Still, if this was the form her concern took, then he could probably handle it. Although that didn’t mean he couldn’t rib her for it.

“Did this little birdie happen to notice that someone else I could name had tampered with the command officer leave?”

“Oh, he did,” a sly smile worked its way across her lips. Before he could address it, the horizon caught his eye. Beginning to cluster off to the east was a very ominous set of what looked like clouds. It was difficult to be exactly analogous as the sky was a soft shade of pink and the cloud-like formations were green-tinted with sharp edges, but it was the closest approximate he had.

“We both checked the atmospheric and weather conditions before we left, right?” Even as he spoke, Chakotay picked up speed again. Kathryn followed his gaze and, without protest, slid her grip down until they were holding hands as they fast-marched across the field.

“Yes, there were occasional showers relatively near here, but they weren’t supposed to make it this far west.”

“Do you want to call for a beam out?”

“For a rain shower? I think we can survive, maybe even without getting wet if we can get to the tree cover in time. It should blow over pretty soon.”

“Then how do you feel about jogging?” he gave her a competitive grin, which she could resist no more than she could coffee, and reluctantly let go of her hand in order to take off before she could answer. “Last one there gets wet!”

At the indignant shout behind him, Chakotay suppressed his laughter and focused on reaching the tree line. If she beat him there now, the teasing would be merciless.

“That was cheating, you tribble,” Kathryn ran straight past him to shelter under the trees as the clouds poured in overhead.

Chakotay shook his head, “Seizing the tactical advantage.” He yelped as pointy fingers poked his side.

“Careful that I don’t use my own tactics,” Kathryn warned, smile belying her threatening tone.

“Perish the thought,” he pretended to shudder, and swerved away from the next jab.

“At least we made it in time; should be safe enough under here. Look, there’s…”

Chakotay was destined to never know what he was supposed to look at, as the storm chose that moment to break overhead. The cracking noise was similar enough to thunder, but the substance that came crashing to the ground was as dissimilar from rain as he could imagine.

“What is that?” he asked the obvious question, hoping it had come up in some report that he had missed.

“No idea,” Kathryn killed that hope, and inched closer to the edge of the trees. He moved to her shoulder. She’d be more careful with her own safety if she knew he was planning to follow her into whatever danger lay ahead. “These are supposed to be simple rain storms. Normal Earth-standard rain, H2O composition, nothing unusual.”

One of the odd projectiles chose that moment to roll underneath their cover, and they both took a cautious step back as Kathryn pulled the tricorder off of her belt and scanned it.

“It _is_ water,” she stated, with surprise.

“What?” Chakotay moved in to lean over her shoulder. The readout clearly indicated water. It had some interesting minerals, but nothing that would account for the – globe.

As Kathryn tucked the tricorder away again, Chakotay hunched down next to the strange water to take a better look.

“It almost looks like it is water, but contained within a thin skin.” Slowly he reached out and slid a hand underneath it. It bobbled into his hand and rolled easily over his palm.

“They’re like water balloons.” At her remark, he glanced up, only to see that she was watching the field with unconcealed delight. Out in the field, the storm had picked up, sending the globes down with greater force. Now, instead of gently landing on the ground and rolling away, they were exploding on impact, sending out a spray of water in all directions. He stood up to better watch the sight.

“How durable is that skin?” she wondered, moving to peer intently at the globe he still held. Tentatively, she reached out a finger and ran it over the surface. “I can feel the water moving inside. The outside is strangely slick, not quite water slick,” she was cut off mid-muse as she increased the pressure past the globe’s allowable tension and it burst, drenching Chakotay’s front.

“Oh,” she breathed, blue eyes wide. “I’m so sorry.” Her apology was entirely ruined by the twitching of her lips, which she had to raise a hand to hide.

Chakotay looked down at his soaked jacket. He looked up at his now-giggling commanding officer. Then he looked over at the globes still scattered from the initial gentle downpour.

He reached down and scooped another one up.

“Now Chakotay,” Kathryn was backing away slowly, hands raised in treaty. “Let’s not be too hasty. It was an accident.”

She made it no further before being hit squarely in the ribs.

“Apology accepted,” he grinned at her. “Now we’re even.”

Frowning down at her thoroughly soaked front, jacket and pants alike, her hands slowly rose to her hips. Chakotay took a cautious step backwards.

“Oh, we are nowhere near even,” she muttered.

That was all the warning he had before Take-No-Prisoners Janeway made a dive for the nearest globe.

Half an hour of furious battle later, completely soaked from head to toe, Chakotay called a cease fire when Kathryn almost slipped off of a fallen tree trying for a higher vantage point, and he had to abandon his own spot to catch her. They were running out of ammunition, anyway.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, as her fingers clutched at his shoulders, trying to regain her balance.

“Thank you,” she smiled up at him when her feet were solidly underneath her once more. “I would have hated explaining that one to the Doctor.”

“The Doctor? I would have had to explain it to Tuvok. He would never have let us go on shore leave together again.”

She laughed. “You may have a point. Got a plan for how we’re going to dry out before we have to be back to the beam out point?”

“Why do I have to have the plan? You started it.”

“You threw the first shot. Mine was a complete accident.”

Continuing to tease, they headed back towards the field. The sun had returned after the brief storm moved on, strong and warm. Hopefully it could dry them out before they had to report back. If not, Chakotay was sure they could come up with a plan on the fly. It was what they did best, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: I’ve got you  
> Trektober: Interspecies Relationship  
> Fictober: “yes I did, what about it?”  
> OTPtober: "Sharing an umbrella/playing in the rain  
> Inktober: Fancy


	8. 08 October 2373

“I am never doing that again.”

Kathryn heard the voice coming from around the corner and only took a moment to place it as Tom.

“You shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”

B’Elanna.

“You’ve just lucky that even blue tentacles are afraid of B’Elanna on a warpath.”

And Harry.

“Lucky? Have you seen my sleeve? How am I going to explain this?”

“I should have let it have your whole head, since you aren’t using it anyway.”

“I don’t understand how it was able to tear through your shirt, anyway. Should that be possible? Did the vine have spikes?”

“It had teeth, Harry. Actual teeth. All down the underside. And don’t tell me again that plants can’t have teeth, because this one did!”

She couldn’t resist the urge any longer to look sideways and see Chakotay’s reaction. He had freed one hand from his armload, and was using it to smooth over his mouth and chin, likely trying to banish his smile before half of their senior staff made it around the corner and discovered who was overhearing the highlights of their misadventure. They seemed to have paused just out of sight to debate the details.

An honorable Captain wouldn’t keep silent as she stood just around the corner. A virtuous Captain wouldn’t let them incriminate themselves further before she cleared her throat pointedly to watch them jump. A respectable Captain definitely wouldn’t continue eavesdropping to hear more about a plant with teeth before she got the sanitized, boring report. Of course an honorable, virtuous, and respectable First Officer wouldn’t do any of those things either, and instead Chakotay seemed to be trying to breathe softer. She reached out and jabbed the button to hold the turbolift.

“You know we’re going to have to report this, right?” Ah, Harry, ever the voice of reason. That must be his role in whatever jeopardy quotient Chakotay had worked out for the three of them.

“Just that we found some aggressive wildlife, though. I think we can leave my shirt out of it.”

“Oh no, flyboy. We’re telling them everything. If I have to face the Doctor over this, you’re not getting out of it either.”

“But… _everything_ everything?” Kathryn had long ago ceased to wonder how Tom had got himself out of so many of the messes that he had managed to get himself into over the years. He was past master in the arts of wheedling, persuasion, and judicious flattery. At least nowadays he only used them as a force for good. Typically.

“Harry?” He must be making an especially fine effort if B’Elanna was wavering.

“I suppose that one bit isn’t exactly relevant,” came the slow answer.

“That’s all I’m asking for,” Tom spoke quickly. “Just that one bit.”

“B’Elanna?” It seemed to be Harry’s turn to waver.

Kathryn couldn’t decide whether to be amused or concerned at these negotiations. She could always wait to pass judgment until she’d gotten the full story out of them. Including ‘that one bit.’

“As long as they know exactly why we all had to troop to medical after shore leave on the most peaceful planet we’ve seen yet.”

“Peaceful?” Tom’s tone was that of gravest insult, as though someone had said that a garbage scow could outpace Voyager or he used too much hair gel. “I’m missing a sleeve!”

“I’m missing several inches of skin,” B’Elanna shot back.

Chakotay straightened beside her. She agreed. It had suddenly tipped far more towards concerning than amusing.

“To be fair, that’s because you fell off of the rocks.” They couldn’t see B’Elanna’s reaction, but it prompted Harry to keep talking. “I’m just saying, that could have happened without the plant.”

“Hey, here’s an idea, let’s not be fair to the plant that just tried to eat me.”

“I don’t think it was trying to eat you.” Harry mused, clearly having come out of this experience unscathed and not terribly worried about either of the others. Kathryn relaxed, slightly. “Once B’Elanna whacked it a couple of times and I dragged you away, it seemed to lose all interest.”

“Lulling us into a false sense of security,” Tom muttered.

“The important thing is,” B’Elanna cut short any further considerations of the plant’s motives, “the next time Harry says, ‘I think we should stick to the path,’ your response is going to be what?”

The silence stretched long. Chakotay sighed, almost inaudibly.

“Tom,” Harry chimed in, clearly suppressing a laugh.

“Look, I bet no one else got to see what we did.”

B’Elanna growled a string of Klingon that made the man at her elbow muffle a snort. Kathryn’s Klingon had never been very good, which seemed to be doing her a disservice at the moment.

“Language, Lieutenant.” It seemed Tom’s impersonation of Tuvok was improving. “Besides, it was entirely unintentional. I thought I _was_ on the path. Then I looked back, had enough to wonder, ‘hey, where did everyone go,’ and then it was Audrey’s snack time.”

“Audrey?” Harry sounded confused, which was reassuring. Kathryn was wondering where the name came into play as well. “You’ve named the plant?”

“We are _not_ adopting it.”

“Harry, B’Elanna, how have I possibly missed introducing you to the delight that is Audrey Junior? Or Audrey II, depending on if you prefer the digital production or the live action version.”

“Is this another ancient Earth thing? Didn’t you promise you would give those a break for at least two weeks?” It was Kathryn’s turn to smother a laugh at B’Elanna’s aggrieved tone.

“I promised that ages ago!”

“Five days,” Harry countered. “Five days ago in the mess hall at breakfast. We still have nine days left.”

The renewed sounds of footsteps towards their position had Kathryn straightening up and trying her best to look like a dignified Captain who had not just been deliberately eavesdropping. She hoped Chakotay was having better luck. Hoisting the container on her hip higher, she decided to just go for industrious.

“Guys, that’s not fair, that shouldn’t extend – Captain.”

Glancing over at them, Kathryn nodded in greeting, “Lieutenants, Ensign. Going up?”

They exchanged a nervous look, then clearly decided to brave it out and filed through the open door.

“Can I help you with that, Captain?” Harry asked, polite as ever, as she followed behind them and not incidentally thumbed the hold button off.

“Thank you, Harry, but I have it,” she smiled at him, and his demeanor relaxed. He really was so very trusting.

“Is it moving day?” And then there was Tom.

“Not exactly. We’re coming up on the yearly review and trying out a new method of records refinement.”

“I see,” Harry eyed her container and the two that Chakotay was carrying with an air that fairly screamed his immediate reconsideration of command.

“It’s not as daunting as it looks,” she reassured him. “It will be reduced down to one PADD as soon as we determine how we want to consolidate.”

He seemed unconvinced, but she had bigger fish to fry.

“Bridge,” she announced to the computer, then turned slightly to have the others in view. “So, have an interesting shore leave? Or so I’ve heard.” At ‘heard,’ B’Elanna actually winced.

Kathryn looked them over, making sure to linger on Tom’s torn sleeve and B’Elanna’s scratched arms, before facing Harry squarely and raising one eyebrow.

He caved like a poorly-tuned oscillator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Where did everybody go?  
> Trektober: Tentacles  
> Fictober: “I’m not doing that again”  
> OTPtober: Moving in together/A helping B move  
> Inktober: Teeth


	9. 09 October 2373

“This is the reason that you don’t leave information out of the reports, no matter how inconsequential or embarrassing you may find it. Has that been made abundantly clear at this point?”

Chakotay dialed his glower up another notch. It was the only backup he could provide, as the odds of being able to actually lecture the three pathetic specimens in front of him without giving into laughter were astronomically low. He suspected Kathryn’s ire at being potentially contaminated by them due to the extended turbolift ride was all that was carrying her through.

“Yes ma’am,” an exceedingly contrite Ensign Kim murmured from where he had jumped off of his biobed the moment she had stormed out of the Doctor’s office. He was a sight. The blue rash across his visible skin clashed horribly with the hospital tunic and trousers, and he was clearly wavering on his feet.

Not that the rash was the worst of the symptoms.

“You’re such an excellent Captain, we should never have tried to hide anything from you. The way you negotiated with the Rat People the other day; I want to be able to command like that. Although not with the Rat People, even if their fur looked very soft. It must take a lot of upkeep,” Harry continued earnestly.

Chakotay firmly pressed his lips together.

“As I said,” the Doctor reminded the nonplussed Captain, “with the amount of oxytocin they’re producing right now, they could find affection for a tricorder.”

“Oh, I wonder if Hector misses me,” B’Elanna suddenly interjected.

“I’m sure he does,” Tom reassured her, “you’re such a great person. He’d be an idiot not to miss you. Who’s Hector?”

“My favorite tricorder,” she held her fists to her heart. “What if he doesn’t know that he’s my favorite?”

“Case in point,” the Doctor muttered. “I’ve had to enforce strict rules about leaving their biobeds. Otherwise the hugging was getting out of hand.”

“Surely there’s nothing wrong with a few hugs,” Chakotay protested. Given how bereft B’Elanna was looking over the idea that her tricorder might feel unappreciated, he wanted to give her a hug himself. “Unless, it was leading to – other activities,” he amended, circumspectly.

“No, thankfully, there is no corresponding uptick in sexual desire,” the Doctor proceeded bluntly where others feared to tread. “It’s just difficult to examine three people who won’t let go of each other. Also, frankly, the… cuddling was just nauseating. And I don’t even have a stomach.”

“Perhaps,” Kes’ soft voice broke in, “now that we have all the information we need, we could monitor them at a distance? If we put monitors on them, couldn’t we send them back to quarters where they could be affectionate without interfering with your work, Doctor?”

Chakotay blessed Kes’ calm compassion, which served as such an excellent palliative to the Doctor’s gruff manners. Also her ability to phrase things in a way that neatly pointed out how it would benefit the person she was trying to persuade. If she wasn’t so determined to be a doctor herself, he would snap her up for diplomatic training in a heartbeat.

“Is there any risk of complications?” the Captain checked, “or contamination throughout the rest of the ship?”

“No, the plant spore should die within their systems inside of the next eight hours. Once they come down from the high that it’s prompting by overstimulating the oxytocin production, they’ll need chemical boosters to get their brain chemistry back into proper alignment. Otherwise they’ll be subject to the withdrawal depression that is likely meant to send them back to the plant for another dose of pollen to keep the spore alive,” he set down the hypospray that he had picked up to illustrate his point and moved to stand in front of the biobeds next to the Captain. “As far as contamination, at this point it requires fluid exposure to allow the embedded spores to deliver an offspring. I see no reason they can’t be released to quarters. For the greater good of my sanity, if nothing else.”

“Fine,” she gave a sharp nod. “Keep me posted on their status and when they are cleared to return to duty.”

It didn’t take too much knowledge of her character to hear the veiled threat beneath that statement. ‘Cleared for duty’ also meant ‘cleared for an extended dressing down.’

“Of course, Captain.” Behind him, a medical station buzzed softly. “Ah, just in time. Kes, could you start outfitting them with cortical monitors? Will you look at this, Captain, Commander? The results of your blood work should have just finished.”

“Right away, Doctor.” Kes nodded and moved towards one of the medical cabinets.

Chakotay trailed slightly behind the Doctor and Captain, distracted with concern at the way Paris had wrapped his arms around himself, shivering slightly. Before he could bring it to the Doctor’s attention, however, Kes appeared at the side of the biobed. A hand on his arm and a few soft words later, Tom relaxed again, complimenting Kes’ progress as a medic as she affixed a monitor behind his ear.

Reassured, he moved to catch the report the Doctor was just beginning.

“As I feared, you were exposed to them before they reported to Sick Bay and were decontaminated. There were still active spores and pollen on their clothes, enough to infect the both of you.”

“But we haven’t started displaying any of the symptoms,” Kathryn pointed out, looking at the backs of her hands to double check. Chakotay studied his own hands carefully as well. Still not blue, which was a not a sentence he’d ever expected to say, let alone with such relief.

“Likely due to the decreased amount of pollen present at the time of infection. Your brain’s new pets don’t have as many nutrients to work with as those acquired at the root source like our intrepid trio. Based on your blood work, I doubt you’ll experience the rash or such drastic chemical output, but your oxytocin levels are steadily rising. If you haven’t started feeling the effects, you will shortly; probably within the next hour. Any urges to publicly declare your emotions yet?”

Frowning, Kathryn shook her head. Chakotay started to echo her, but paused.

“Commander?”

He ducked his head slightly under the questioning looks from two sets of eyes.

“I’m not ready to sing your praises just yet,” he admitted, “but I did have a few impulses to comfort our blue colleagues.”

He raised an eyebrow at Kathryn inquiringly, but she shook her head again.

“I think I’m too irritated with them at the moment to want to do anything of the sort,” she said, then tilted her head in thought for a moment. “The irritation seems to be wearing out faster than usual, however.”

“You’ve probably hit the beginning of the symptoms, then,” the Doctor moved to retrieve a set of cortical monitors from Kes’ tray. “I’ll prescribe the same treatment for you, as them. Cortical monitors just in case you experience any unexpected side effects, and rest in your quarters.” He hesitated. “I don’t mean to overstep, but it would be my recommendation that you ride it out together. Being alone might be… unpleasant.”

Chakotay thought of Tom, hunched and shivering. He knew what his answer would be, but it wasn’t only his call.

“We’ll take that under advisement, Doctor,” was the only reply that the Captain made before moving her hair over one shoulder for placement of the monitor.

* * *

“This is a beautiful throw,” he complimented Kathryn gravely, ensconced on her couch just over an hour later. She had just pulled the throw from the back of the couch and tossed it over their legs, which were companionably intertwined as they leaned back against opposite arms. “Did you knit it yourself? I’ve seen some of your other work. The blanket you made for Naomi is lovely. You’re very talented.”

It had been an awkward beginning after they negotiated to serve out the time together, settled on her quarters over his, and met awkwardly in the main room once they’d both changed into comfortable clothes. When the urge to begin listing the manifold virtues of the other had grown too strong to contain, they had stuttered and mumbled their way through until Kathryn had grown exasperated with the both of them and turned it into a challenge. He couldn’t help but take up the gauntlet, and now she knew that he admired her humor, commitment, and hair. In return, he now knew that his passion, willingness to forgive, and dimples were equally delightful.

“Thank you,” Kathryn Janeway blushing was a delight to behold and it turned out that nothing made her blush like a litany of compliments. “I did knit this one, long before Voyager, almost one of my first big projects. It’s followed me through all of my posts.” She tangled her fingers in the tassels of yarn fringing the throw, watching the action as though it was the only thing of interest in the room. “You’re so good at knowing what to say. I’ve always admired that. The science, the protocols, the command,” she waved a hand away, “that I can do. The people? It’s always been hard. You always do or say exactly the right thing. Voyager’s lucky, I’m lucky, to have you.” Compliment stated, she looked up at him swiftly, jaw set, but eyes that were poorly disguising vulnerability.

After his first several outpourings of admiration, the expression on her face as she wavered between wanting to reciprocate and being clearly terrified of reciprocating made him suspect that the artificial high of the increased oxytocin was the only thing keeping her from barricading herself in the washroom. Chakotay had known that letting go of the command distance was difficult for her, but her reactions seemed to be supporting his theory that emotional honesty in general was a struggle. Turning it into a challenge of who would run out of compliments first had seemed to make it easier on her – a logical excuse for tapping into her emotional landscape.

“Thank you,” he started slowly. These were potentially dangerous waters. “I’ve worked hard to strengthen those skills, and it’s nice to know that it’s paid off. I tend to focus on the times that I haven’t gotten it right, if I’m not careful.”

“They’re always easier to focus on,” she admitted with a rueful twist of her lips. “It’s hard to imagine you... wallowing, though. You’re so level-headed.” Now he knew he wasn’t misreading the self-deprecation underneath the praise.

“If only my father could hear that.” Once he’d gotten her to smile back at him, he reiterated, “It took work, but my mother always said that nothing is a failure, unless you give up. And,” he nudged her calf under the blanket with his foot, “I have a hard time picturing you giving up. You always try again. It’s very admirable.”

“Hm, not always,” she murmured, eyes darkening for a moment, “but I like that philosophy. It sounds a lot better to live up to than perfectionism.” This time she was the one to nudge his leg. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that compliment. Sneaking one in under the radar; well played, sir. Of course, you’re very clever, so it’s not surprising.”

He couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh. The Indomitable Janeway – one moment caught in her own foibles, the next forcibly trudging onward, carrying everyone with her as she went.

“Thank you,” he found the words tumbling out, even as she looked confused at his earnestness. “For your friendship, your trust,” he clarified clumsily, “it means a, a great deal. To me.”

Chakotay decided that the glow in her eyes was better than whatever compliment she gave him next.

“Oh, now we’re just getting maudlin,” Kathryn quipped, using the edge of her shirt sleeve to dry her eyes. Then she sighed and looked at him with sudden determination. He was too startled to brace himself before she had kicked her way out of her side of the throw and scooted around next to him. Her head on his shoulder and arm around his ribs almost distracted him completely from the words she mumbled into his collar bone.

“You mean a great deal to me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptobe: For the greater good  
> Trektober: Sex-Love Pollen  
> Fictober: “will you look at this?”  
> OTPtober: Getting a pet together  
> Inktober: Throw


	10. 10 October 2373

“They look so pretty when they bleed.”

The voice echoed around her and she suppressed a scream, but couldn’t bite back, “ _Bak_ , stop, _shtel_!” She remembered herself, though, and started to mutter the mantra, “Kathryn Janeway, Lieutenant, A115…”

“Kathryn. Kathryn!”

The call interrupted her and she lost her place. What was the next number? Or was it a letter? What kind of Starfleet officer couldn’t remember her own serial number? Stop it, Kathryn. She had to hold on, Starfleet would find them, their ship would find them, she had to hope, she just had to hold on. She started the litany over again.

“Kathryn Janeway, Lieutenant…”

A sting at her neck and a hiss. What had they given her? What were they going to do with her now?

Fear flooded through her, but a strange calm chased on its heels, and she sat up with a gasp.

Kathryn looked at the regulation Starfleet walls with total confusion, still caught in the dark, cold cell. A frantic glance through the room landed on the man sitting with preternatural calm at the farthest end of the couch from her. Her eyes met his, dark with compassion, and some part of her remembered to breathe.

“Chakotay,” she murmured on the exhale, and shut her eyes tightly for a moment.

He gave her a few minutes, before speaking quietly. “The withdrawals hit while we were asleep. I woke up,” he broke off with a dark cough of a laugh, “less than at my best. I barely remembered about the hypos the Doctor gave us.” She opened her eyes again and he held up the hypospray in his hand. “Once mine kicked in, I commed him for an update. Then I tried to wake you for yours before you had the same experience, but you were…” he trailed off. “My timing was a little off.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, rubbing her neck to get rid of the lingering tingle of the hypospray, and cleared her throat. “For the wakeup call and the hypo.”

Chakotay nodded, and seemed about to speak, before hesitating. Kathryn raised an eyebrow at him. After last night, which she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to think about or not, it seemed like a strange time to become reticent.

“You were speaking Cardassian,” he said, not quite a question, but not exactly a statement either.

“Was I?” she murmured, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them, idly scratching the back of one hand. “I only ever really learned a few words of it.”

“I recognized ‘no,’” he offered, then lapsed back into silence. She looked up at him, and knew that he wouldn’t ask anything more.

“There was a mission,” she spoke into the silence and could almost feel the pressure in the room increase, “back before the, the treaty. Admiral Paris and I were – guests of the Cardassian Union for a while.”

Kathryn let the silence fall again, scrunching her toes in the throw pooled around her feet.

“I’ve never found the Cardassians to be particularly hospitable.”

She snorted inelegantly and hugged her knees tighter. “No. They weren’t.”

When he didn’t speak again, she looked up and could see the questions in his eyes. She had been in Cardassian hands – what did she really think of the treaty? Why had she stayed in Starfleet, to be ordered to work in this uneasy alliance? Did she ever regret it?

Some days Kathryn knew the answers to those questions – that the Federation couldn’t sustain the war effort, not after Wolf 359, not with the Borg lurking just beyond their borders. The Klingon alliance had been fraught and met with skepticism, but was standing the test of time; Cardassia could prove the same. She stayed to explore, as she always had, and to protect those that she could from dangers both without and within. Some days she even whole-heartedly believed in those answers.

Other days, the days she couldn’t admit even to herself, not while standing as the beacon of Federation order and discipline for a crew so bereft of any other normality, those days the answers were a little harder to come by.

Did she ever regret it?

Never ask a question for which one is not prepared to hear the answer.

“How are you?” she looked up from her knees again, finally registering that Chakotay had woken up at ‘less than his best.’ “If your dreams turned anything like mine did,” her voice hesitated, as her mind dithered. “I know that you have some times that you probably don’t want to revisit, either,” she settled on.

“No,” was all that he said, face stoic, but eyes terribly vulnerable. “But the hypo helped. Give yourself a few minutes to calm down and it will recede again,” he advised.

Kathryn studied him a moment longer and then let it go. If he needed to talk, she had to trust that he would come to her. Trying to force a confidence was a fool’s game.

“Computer, what time is it?” she called, loosening her hold on her legs to rub over her cheekbone.

**_The time is 0930_ **

“The Doctor insisted that we take the day off and already changed the roster,” Chakotay reassured her as she looked to him in surprise. “Tom, Harry, and B’Elanna are recovering fine as well. They’ll require additional boosters every three hours. We should just need one.”

“I feel as though I should protest, so that he doesn’t get comfortable adjusting the roster without approval, but I also feel a bit as though I’ve been run over by a shuttle,” she groaned, scrubbing her face harder with both hands before tilting her neck from side to side. “Though I will say, my back feels better than it ought to after sleeping on this couch…” Her voice trailed off, a vague memory surfacing. Feeling warm, safe, and loved. A combination that was hard to come by in the Delta Quadrant. An arm around her back and a strong shoulder underneath her head. She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I fell asleep on you,” she stated flatly. “Oh Chakotay, please tell me you moved.”

“I think I dropped off at the same time,” he shrugged. “I woke up wondering where the heck I was.”

“And why your back hurt so much, I imagine,” Kathryn shook her head sympathetically. “This couch is murder on the spine. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s hardly your fault,” Chakotay laughed. “Besides I think that hypo had a mild analgesic in it. I’m barely stiff anymore. Even if I was, it was worth it.” He slid out the ‘it’ as though he had spoken the sentence without conscious thought and was now regretting it.

“It’s hard out here alone,” she owed him at least an attempt at recovery, after all the times he had helped her out of a conversational dead end of topics they Could Not Discuss. “Hard not to want the occasional hug.” She gave him her kindest smile, they one she hoped conveyed all of the things she couldn’t say, would never be able to say with four pips and 70000 light years standing between them. She turned the conversation with a laugh, “Certainly, last night a hug felt like all I ever wanted in the entire universe!”

He laughed in turn at her dramatic tone, but sobered to quietly offer, “I think your friends are always happy to offer a hug, Kathryn. We might be alone, but we, I, would hate for you to be lonely.”

Kathryn froze, uncertain how to address that statement. She knew she rode the line of familiarity already with her habit of squeezing shoulders and tapping arms in passing. Touch had always been her method of connection though, a concrete way to let her crew know that she saw them, she cared about them, she was proud of them. But she couldn’t quite picture embracing even her senior staff without the moment turning awkward. Captains didn’t need hugs, they were invulnerable and unyielding. Harry would probably melt though the floor.

“Although I wouldn’t recommend coming between B’Elanna and her favorite tricorder,” Chakotay deflated the building silence, “that seemed to be a sensitive point yesterday.”

“Oh,” Kathryn laughed, half in humor and half in relief, rubbing the palm of one hand over the back of the other. “What are we going to do with them? I was willing to pretend not to have heard their conversation about omitting details from the official report. I’m sure we’ve all at least briefly considered the same at some point. I can’t overlook actively following through on the conspiracy, though. It’s not quite falsifying a report, but it’s damn close.”

“Hm,” he frowned and she spent the time she should have been contemplating their trio of miscreants tracing how his face changed with the motion. “I think we have two options.”

“Go ahead,” she nodded, forcing herself back on track. She wondered if the effects of the spore were meant to linger.

“We can go through formal charges,” he paused and she nodded again. That was the ‘official’ action commonly chosen to deal with those who stepped out of line. For falsifying a report, there could be a litany of repercussions from being put on report, stripped of rank, losing commission, even prison time, dependent upon the severity of the action. Omitting details in an official report from personal opinion, rather than sabotage, would rank lower on the scale, but could still incur a stiff punishment. Captains had latitude to apply punishment as they deemed fit, however, and given that the officers in question had already been under the influence of an alien spore, there was a bit of leniency that she could leverage in her disciplinary actions. She would prefer to ensure that they never again repeated the action over merely complying with the letter of the regulations.

“Or,” he favored her with a tilted grin that hinted at the wicked side he so rarely showed onboard, “we could get a little more creative.”

Kathryn recalled that B’Elanna had more than once remarked that Chakotay had a ‘twisted sense of humor.’ “Creative?” she questioned, fighting down her own smile, but knowing it was stealing around the edges of her lips. “Shall we contemplate creativity over breakfast?” she asked, unwinding herself from the throw. “My treat.”

Before he could accept or decline, she caught a glimpse of her own ankles and yelped.

“What is wrong with my skin?” she looked properly at her hands for the first time since waking up and saw that they too were covered in what looked like a fine powder.

“I forgot,” Chakotay looked chagrined and reached over to pick up a bottle from the coffee table. “We didn’t turn blue, but the spore did over-dry our skin. A little lotion and you’ll be good as new. I already tried it out, and it worked fine. The Doctor included it with the hypos just in case, and gave me the heads up when I talked with him this morning.”

“Thank goodness,” Kathryn breathed, taking the bottle of lotion from his hands. “I thought it was the beginning stages of the rash, and I don’t think blue would suit me very well.”

“I’m fairly certain that, at this point, I’m supposed to say you’d look lovely in anything,” he pretended to sincerely contemplate her face, with amusement crinkling around his eyes, “but I have to say that I don’t think even you could pull that one off.”

“I think I prefer that answer,” she chuckled. “If you thought I looked lovely in a blue rash, I’d have to have the Doctor check your eyesight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober; They look so pretty when they bleed  
> Trektober: Away Mission  
> Fictober: “all I ever wanted”  
> OTPtober: Skincare/Spa night  
> Inktober: Hope


	11. 11 October 2373

“That being said,” the Captain sounded as though she were coming to the end of her lecture and Chokotay could only imagine how relieved the three officers in front of them must feel. His only role so far had been to look stern and unyielding as the Captain berated the three up one side and down the other. No one could make a person feel smaller than Kathryn Janeway when she had principles and the safety of the crew on her side, and he hated to interfere in the work of a master.

Now that they had three cowed and repentant officers, it was time for the meat of the task and his own contribution. Psych 101, she softened them up and then he delivered the hard blow. Possibly also Boxing 101, but the two overlapped more than the general public might think.

“Ensign Kim,” he stepped forward and addressed the last in the sorry line, nearest the railing to the seating area. He suspected if it wasn’t against regulations, Harry might have considered escaping that way. “Are you familiar with Regulation 470?”

“Yes, sir,” if Harry stood much straighter, he was going to dislocate a vertebrae. “It covers writing, submission, correction, filing, and archiving of reports and all reportage materials.”

Chakotay waited a beat for Kim, and the other two listening, to register that even correct answers weren’t going to be receiving any approval at this point, then moved on.

“Lieutenant Torres. In Regulation 470, what does Section F, paragraph 2-B address?”

It took B’Elanna a longer pause to retrieve the information. She would have had to memorize it at the Academy, and he knew she had worked to refresh her memory since taking the position as Chief Engineer, but it wasn’t as ingrained in her as Harry.

“Correct procedures and guidelines for creating incident reports, sir.” She seemed to remember at the last moment that she should be making a statement, and not asking a question. Chakotay decided to kindly ignore the slight uptick in her voice.

“And Section E?” He knew she had it now. Once you could remember one section, they tended to flow in a similar order. A small blessing for cadets – and officers – memorizing hundreds of regulations. So he knew that her hesitation wasn’t a search through her memory, but a reluctance to speak.

Just before he would have reprimanded her, she swallowed and answered, “Consequences for submitting incorrect reports.”

“Lieutenant Paris,” he eyed the last member of the trio, the one who had kept his blank face firm from the moment he had walked in the door. Three years ago, or even two, he would have assumed it was a lack of care or insolence. Now, better acquainted with the pilot’s character, he suspected it was experience and wariness. If you don’t know what’s coming, it’s best not to give anything away that could be used against you. “You have the longest service record, care to describe the consequences outlined in Regulation 470, Section E for falsifying reports?”

“Knowingly falsifying reports will be met with disciplinary action. Falsified reports that result in harm to a crew, star ships, any associated persons or places, Starfleet, or the Federation will be met with due process as criminal offenses or capital crimes, dependent upon the events in question,” Tom spoke quietly, but clearly.

“What a pity you all weren’t as well acquainted with these regulations two days ago,” Chakotay remarked with killing emphasis, if he did say so himself. “You could have saved yourselves an uncomfortably protracted illness, the Captain and myself becoming infected at all, and the time and resources necessary to sanitize the ship out of caution and confirm that you did not prompt a widespread outbreak among the crew. You are fortunate that no one else had a similar encounter with the plant while not fully briefed on all relevant information.”

He let that sink in a moment before continuing. “As you are incapable of recalling the regulations when they are appropriate and necessary, it seems that you need a refresher in the matter.” He picked up the stack of PADDs set in front of him and passed one to each officer. Paris and Kim properly took their PADDs and kept them in hand as they returned to attention. B’Elanna frowned down at hers for a moment.

Chakotay glanced at the Captain sideways for a moment to see if she wanted to address it, but at her slight headshake, cleared his throat and sternly intoned, “Lieutenant.” She looked up, jumped, and came back to attention.

“Case in point,” he noted. “Lieutenant Tuvok has graciously offered to provide his time and instruction in the matter.” Actually, Lieutenant Tuvok had been all for dragging the three through formal charges, and taking over instruction for the miscreants had been by way of a compromise. The Vulcan had not particularly relished the headache of coordinating the sanitizing and crew evaluations. He didn’t envy their coming weeks in the least. “Your PADDs have instruction schedules that you will adhere to for anything short of an emergency situation. When the Lieutenant is satisfied that you are once again familiar with the requirements for FLT 101 he will advise us on any further action needed.”

Harry twitched noticeably at the end of the line. Unsurprisingly. No one wanted to take FLT 101; in fact, no one even really wanted to teach FLT 101 and it was always manned by a rotating roster of the newest professors at the Academy. Every single cadet had to take the course in their first year, and it was a dull, dry semester. It was also necessary, as it was the course that required the cadets to memorize the Starfleet regulations and protocols they would now be required to live under and gave them the foundation of the behavior and work expected of them as members of Starfleet.

It was uncommon for anyone who was not a first year cadet to take the course. The first years tended to push themselves through it out of sheer determination not to ever have to take it again, and the only outliers were those who had been distance learning in such rare locations that the course wasn’t possible their first year or cadets who had managed to break regulations so badly that they were being sent back through the course as punishment.

“Something to add, Ensign?” he asked, in a deceptively mild tone. Harry, to his credit, simply gave a ‘no sir’ in answer and remained at attention.

“It should go without saying that I am deeply disappointed in having to send three of my senior officers back through the most basic of training,” the Captain took over once again. “However, as it seems the three of you require the point spelled out to the minute details, let me reiterate that this is an error that I will not see ever repeated on this ship. You have set a terrible example to your departments and the crew.”

“Lieutenant Tuvok plans to cover the course in four weeks. Provided you retain more knowledge of the course than a first year cadet, this shouldn’t be a difficulty. You’ll find you don’t have much time for recreational activities, but that shouldn’t matter as your Holodeck privileges are revoked for the duration and your replicators cut to dispense water and vital necessities only.” Chakotay traded off, outlining the last of the disciplinary actions.

They were lucky. Back in the Alpha Quadrant or under a harsher ship the repercussions could have been much more severe. Bringing an unknown contagion on board was regrettable, but an understandable side effect of space exploration. Deliberately omitting details of the incident so that the contagion could have spread unchecked with no reliable data on its origin or potential treatment was quite a different matter. He knew Kathryn partially blamed herself for not making it entirely clear that the reports should be full and complete after the conversation they overheard. That in no way excused three officers who should know better, however, even setting aside the fact that she had made it obliquely clear that the conversation had been overheard and not approved.

If they didn’t realize yet how lucky they were, Chakotay had no doubt that Tuvok would leave them with no illusions. As an added bonus, once word got around that they were retaking FLT 101 as punishment – and in such a small ship, word would definitely get around – Voyager was likely to have the most accurate reportage of any ship in the fleet.

“The Doctor has advised that you spend another day in recovery. Consider yourselves restricted to quarters until your duty shifts tomorrow. Your training schedule begins then. Dismissed.” The Captain moved to the railing to observe the stars passing by with a definite air of disinterest in any further communication. It was a sight he knew she never tired of, but he doubted she was enjoying it as much as usual in the present moment.

As the three saluted and trooped out, Chakotay moved around to take a seat on the other side of the desk. They hadn’t made any untoward movements or indications, but he suspected Harry and B’Elanna were only waiting until they were out of hearing before dragging Paris through a lecture of their own, beginning with, ‘I told you so.’

“Computer,” Kathryn ordered the moment that the doors shut behind them, “seal doors. Authorization Janeway-Pi-1-1-Alpha.”

He wrinkled his forehead in confusion for a moment, until she stripped out of her jacket, followed by her long-sleeved shirt. Down to her tank, she dove into the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a large bottle, slamming it on the desktop.

“This is driving me crazy,” she groaned, taking a handful of the lotion and beginning to smear it over the patches on her arms. She looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you itching?”

“Yes,” he laughed, then stood to remove his own jacket. “I just didn’t want to presume.” He would gleefully have taken sandpaper to his skin starting about thirty minutes ago.

“Presume away,” she waved at the bottle with one hand while the other hiked up her tank to reveal her ribs and another splotch of flaking skin. “All I ask is that you get the spots on my back that I can’t reach.”

“Deal,” he replied, shedding his own shirt in the pile on the chair as well as his tank. “Provided you do the same for me.”

She just nodded, distracted by peeling skin. “This is disgusting,” she wrinkled her nose. “How long is it supposed to last again?”

“Just another six hours, five now, I expect,” Chakotay slathered lotion on the back of his neck and narrowly avoided moaning at the cessation of the burning itch.

“The more the itching built, the more I was coming around to Tuvok’s line of thinking,” she muttered, hiking up a pant leg to attack her shin.

“Good thing we settled on their discipline before this started, or they might have found themselves cleaning the hull of the ship. While in orbit. With toothbrushes.” It was easier to laugh now that he didn’t want to peel all of his own skin off.

“Don’t tempt me,” he looked up to find her waiting impatiently as he finished with his legs. With a grin she rounded the desk and turned her back on him imperiously. “You promised.”

“So I did,” he said with his own grin. He took a palmful of lotion as she raised her tank up just below her breasts. Carefully, Chakotay patted over the red flaking areas, carefully not reacting at her sighing exhale. “’We go from day to day, we move from promise to promise,’” he murmured to distract himself.

“What?” Task done, Kathryn turned her head to look at him questioningly over her shoulder as she pulled her shirt back down.

“Just an old song my mother used to quote,” he shrugged and turned around to present her with his own back. Fair was fair. “She loved an old Earth singer. Frank Sinatra.”

“I’ve heard of him,” she sounded surprised. “It’s funny what survives from the past, isn’t it? Didn’t he sing love songs?” Her small fingers were cool with the lotion as she spread it across the burning patches of his back.

“Hm, yes,” he tried to cover up his reaction to the touch with a steady voice. “This one wasn’t necessarily a love song, though. It was more about the promises we rely on, the small ones that get us through the day. The ones we wait for with quiet expectation. It’s a bit more cryptic than others I remember her singing by him,” she finished with the last patch and he turned around.

Kathryn hadn’t backed away yet, and she was closer than he expected. Close enough that he would only need to close the gap of a few inches to tuck her under his chin, over his heart.

“The important promises, then,” she stared up at him, eyes wide and trusting.

“He said they were the ones that matter,” Chakotay agreed, and stepped away to retrieve his shirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Psych 101  
> Trektober: Enemies to Lovers/Stars/Somnophilia  
> Fictober: “I told you so”  
> OTPtober: Deciding on ‘their song’  
> Inktober: Disgusting
> 
> In case anyone is curious about the song, it's Frank Sinatra's "From Promise to Promise." It's different in style than his more well-known songs (as Chakotay mentions!), but still good:
> 
> "I sometimes wonder why people make promises they never intend to keep.  
> Not in big things, like love or elections, but in the things that count -  
> The newspaper boy who says he will save an extra paper, and doesn't.  
> The laundry that tells you your suit will be ready on Thursday and it isn't.  
> Love, well yes, but like everything else, we go from day to day,  
> We move from promise to promise.  
> I've had a good many promises now, so I can wait for the harvest.  
> And some of them, they come about."


	12. 12 October 2373

“How’d the first lesson go?” Chakotay asked, laying the latest PADD in his pile to one side.

“Haven’t you heard from B’Elanna?” Kathryn looked up, surprised, from where she was halfway through the Engineering update. Repairs were proceeding at a rapid pace, with the double boon of a peaceful orbit and shore leave opportunities to refresh the crew.

He gave a rueful chuckle. “I expect I’m the last person she wants to see now. I’ll give her a few days to cool off before I ‘happen’ to wander by Engineering and see if she’s willing to mend fences.” Picking up the next PADD, he added, “I thought you might have heard from Tuvok. I know you usually have tea with him in the afternoons.”

“Only when I can’t get to the replicator fast enough to order coffee,” she hid her grin behind a brimming cup of the drink in question at his back of laughter. “He persists in believing that if I drink enough cups, I will be persuaded to give up coffee. Either that,” she tapped the PADD against her chin lightly, “or he’s in year six of an extremely long practical joke.”

“His humor is something to watch out for,” Chakotay shook his head, thumbing through the report in hand. “I remember one time…” His voice trailed off, and she looked back over at him.

“One time?” she prompted.

“It was back in the Maquis,” he shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yes, I assumed that,” she paused, uncertain if this was the time to press. “I have realized by now that our former Maquis crew members don’t tend to speak of those days. At least, certainly not where I can overhear them. If that’s their choice, then they are welcome to maintain their silence. They don’t owe any of us a history of their days.” Kathryn set her PADD aside, to make it clear she was concentrating on the conversation. “That doesn’t mean they’re not allowed to share what they wish. All of us have a past, good and bad, and we all have the right to tell it or not, as we see fit, and have that decision respected.” See studied Chakotay’s face, still downturned to his PADD and wondered if she was making sense. Maybe it was time to take it out of the impersonal. “I want to hear any story that you want to tell me, Chakotay. Good or bad.”

His fingers flexed around the PADD. Kathryn almost returned to her own reading, hoping she hadn’t gone too far, when he began speaking quietly. “I was remembering a time we had to move some cargo through a trading depot, including a couple of – slippery packages. One of the guards got a little too interested in our cargo, insisted on taking a look.” His lips twitched, twisting into a half-grin. “Tuvok told them that he was more than willing to let them look through whatever they wanted, but first he would have to break bread with them. The guards were obviously completely confused, and Tuvok just kept talking, calmly, patiently explaining that he knew it was an alien cultural custom, but that he was certain their fine depot wouldn’t bring insult to another culture and began describing the proposed tea ceremony in ridiculous detail.”

Kathryn pressed a hand to her mouth, smile already too wide. She could picture Tuvok doing exactly that, standing as tall as he would at attention, so clearly portraying the belief that those he addressed would bend to his logic that people found themselves halfway through doing something before they even began to wonder why.

“They gave up sometime around the third course and waved us through. I asked him later if it wasn’t true that Vulcans were always supposed to tell the truth, and what exactly he was planning on doing if they had taken him up on the offer,” he set the PADD aside and sat back. “He said that everything he spoke was truth. Breaking bread before an inspection of goods was an O’oran custom. It was hardly his fault if the guards assumed that it was a Vulcan custom. And if they had insisted upon breaking bread, the O’oran tea ceremony could last for up to three days. Surely somewhere in that time the guards would have found something better to do with themselves. Personally I think that legend of Vulcan truthfulness was spread deliberately to lull the rest of the universe into a false sense of security.”

She joined in the laughter, glad that her old friend and new one were making inroads to laying the lines of their own friendship. Chakotay had understood that Tuvok was simply performing his duties, but it had made for a rocky beginning as first and second officers. She and Tuvok’s ruse to plant Tom as a spy for the Kazon sabotage hadn’t exactly helped either, she was willing to admit in retrospect. She had seen it as trusting him to perform the role of an exemplary first officer and protecting him from further pressure in his already difficult task as a bridge between the two crews. He had seen it as a betrayal and lack of trust. Both she and Tuvok had practically had to return to the drawing board of their relationships with Chakotay after that action.

Kathryn found herself idly wondering how that friendship worked. They were both such stoic, principled men, of careful words and deep beliefs. How did Tuvok’s dry humor mesh with Chakotay’s wicked bite? She would never intrude on the time they spent building their connections, but perhaps it would be possible to find space for the three of them to have downtime together. It could only help the command structure for all of them to be comfortable with one another – and she could see how they got on, for completely professional reasons and not at all out of sheer curiosity.

“Kathryn?” Their laughter had died away, but she had lost a few moments in speculation.

“Just thinking about Tuvok,” she responded, truthfully enough. “Did I ever tell you about the Argellian delegation fiasco? Well, maybe not quite a fiasco, but certainly a situation.”

“No,” he frowned in thought. “I’ve never been to Argell, I only know the basic facts. I thought the Federation had an amicable relationship with them?”

“We do,” she confirmed, “but it’s not without its misunderstandings. Argell is one of those societies that cannot accept that a man and woman, of any species, can be simply friends. Apparently, previous delegations had been all male or in large enough numbers that they were seen as a party, rather than a collection of pairings. When Tuvok and I visited, however, it was taken as read that we were a couple.”

“Don’t men and women work together on Argell?” Chakotay looked fascinated, both of their PADDs completely abandoned.

“Yes, but we made the mistake of mentioning our friendship in addition to us being colleagues. After that, there was no containing the rumors.”

“Poor Tuvok.”

“What about me?” Kathryn asked, with a fake glare that he only snickered at. “Yes, fine, Tuvok probably suffered more. Not only was he assumed to be in a relationship with me, they wouldn’t take his wife, his children, or his best attempts at logic into consideration. While attempting to explain all of the above, he accidentally created the ‘fiasco’ portion of the experience.”

“Wait, that wasn’t the fiasco?”

“Oh, no. See the Argellians have very particular ideas about how a relationship is supposed to proceed. When one asked him how we had exchanged our first vows of love, Tuvok told them that we had done no such thing because we were not in love and had no intention of ever being in love. From the reaction he got, you would think he had just announced his intentions to sacrifice me under the next double moon. For the rest of that day and the next we accomplished absolutely nothing, as the Argellian politicians kept pulling one or the other of us aside to very seriously chat about the importance of honest and open communication in relationships.”

Chakotay had covered his face with his hand by this point, shoulders quaking in silent laughter.

“We started out trying to disabuse them of the notion, but by the end of the second day they had worn us down. When the Chancellor cornered me in the hallway outside of the reception room, I told him that he was absolutely right, that Tuvok and I would have a long conversation about how to avoid miscommunications ever again – just as soon as the delegatory meetings were over.”

“I see Tuvok has had an influence on your ability to imply things as well. I’m sure you did have that conversation about miscommunications,” he had recovered enough to prop his chin up on the arm braced on the table, but his eyes were still shining.

“Oh, did we ever,” she muttered. “Before that, however, the Chancellor insisted that there would be no better time to declare our love than at the festival closing out the Season of Warming, which coincided with the end of our stay.”

“No.”

“Yes. I’ll never forget that moment. It was a beautiful night; the breeze was light with Argellian spices and the soft music of the bands lining the banks of the river. The double moons were in alignment and made the water sparkle below, while the lanterns lining the bridge and boardwalks softly glowed to create an entirely picturesque scene. The bridge was crowded with couples, clasping hands and whispering their fervent first avowals of love. And there I was, summoning up all my affection for Tuvok to whisper at least an attempt at a genuine ‘I love you’ to my officer, who replied: ‘And I you. May we now leave the scene of this farce?’” 

Chakotay had abandoned even the pretense of sobriety by that point, face buried in the crook of his elbow, helplessly laughing as Kathryn dramatically acted out the immortal moment in charades.

“Oh,” he gasped, as she leaned against one hand in her own laughter. “I think I’ve broken something.”

“Don’t say that,” she shushed him, “the Doctor said that if either of us shows up again this week, he’s going to keep us trapped there for our own safety. The both of us. And don’t think if you land me in medical prison that I won’t connive my own way out and leave you behind.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged, wiping at his eyes.

“Watch me,” she dared, smile wicked and tongue caught between her teeth.

“Then who would help you get through all of these reports,” he gestured at the stacks of PADDs scattered across the tabletop.

She gave a huge and gusty sigh, “I suppose you’re right. I’ll have to break the both of us out.”

“Or we could just not get injured for the next three days,” Chakotay suggested gravely, eyes dancing.

“Always has an alternative plan,” Kathryn quipped, reaching for her abandoned engineering report. “Excellent quality in a first officer. I’ll work on a Plan B, though,” she grinned at him over the report, “just in case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: I think I’ve broken something  
> Trektober: Alien Cultural Customs  
> Fictober: “watch me”  
> OTPtober: First ‘I love yous’  
> Inktober: Slippery


	13. 13 October 2373

“Just focus on my voice. Breathe in, breathe out.”

Chakotay struggled to follow her advice. The walls pressing around them were much stronger than the pull of her words, however.

“Hey. Chakotay. Focus on me. We’re fine, there’s plenty of air, you just need to breathe.” The urgency of her words pulled him in for a bit, but not for long. Why did they have to be brown walls? Brown and bleak and earthy, trapping him underneath. He pressed his eyes closed against the sight.

“Commander.” The command growl snapped his attention to a well-trained focus. He couldn’t see the Captain, but he heard her movements and then breath on his face. She was right in front of him. “Better. Breathe, that’s an order. In.” A hand pressed to the side of his ribs, while cold fingers slid down his arm until they were wrapped around his wrist. “And out.”

His lungs filled with a heavy fullness of air over and over, to the metronome of sharp orders, and his dizziness faded. Carefully, he opened his eyes again. Hovering before him, words hard but eyes concerned, was Kathryn, blessedly blocking out the sight of the walls around him.

“Back with me?” she questioned, the litany of her words dying away.

Chakotay didn’t trust himself to do more than nod and keep staring at her. Her and not the too-close walls. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat.

“Not really how I saw the evening going,” he croaked.

It got the hint of a crooked grin, but banished none of the concern.

“There was a cave-in,” he tried, but stopped as the panic began to crush against his ribs again.

The hand on his chest moved, to grab his chin firmly.

“Focus,” she demanded, concern locked behind an implacable mask of strength. “You’re here, with me, and we’re fine. We’ll get out of here soon and B’Elanna will undoubtedly be more than happy to help you track down whatever went wrong and pound it into dust. I, personally, plan to have a few words with our hosts about shoving guests into protected chambers without a word of warning and then leaving them there.”

Chakotay tried to smile, but brown out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Was the wall closer than it was before? No, that wasn’t possible. And yet… he started to turn his head, just to check. A quick check and then it’d be fine. Just fine.

“Hey, no,” the hand on his chin halted his motions. “Look at me. Just me. Tell me how you got this scarf to stay up without falling. I’m still convinced some sort of wizardry is involved.”

It was no hardship to look at Kathryn. Her bright blue eyes and delicate face, the auburn hair currently caught up within a scarf the color of the dunes of Beril – according to their new acquaintances, the Berillians, with whom they’d just made first contact twelve hours earlier.

They were the reason the two of them were over on the Berillian ship, at a pleasant dinner to solidify their new friendship. Or what had been a pleasant dinner until an upset and subsequent blaring alarm from the Berillian’s engineering department had led to everyone being shoved into their version of ‘sheltering in place.’ Tiny, cell-like structures they dubbed Safety Rooms. It was probably very safe. It was also very small.

They had performed an exchange of small goods earlier, six or so hours, perhaps? When the Berillians had beamed over their own delegation to Voyager, for a celebratory luncheon. One of the Berillian gifts had been several scarves, one of which Chakotay had suggested that Kathryn wear to the dinner. It was politic, but also lovely, the dusky silver of the Berillian dunes with a subtle shimmer woven through it seemed to glow against the twists of her hair.

“No wizardry,” he told her, eyes tracing the interweaving of her hair and the scarf. “Just a lot of practice. My sister broke her arm badly once. Claimed it was my fault. So I had to do her hair for her. While her mobility was limited. Turned out to have a knack. She’d still get me to do it. Even after the final checkup.” Short sentences were easier, but they still seemed to take more breath than he could get back.

“Phoebe was always better with hair than me,” she told him, tone soft and confidential, but eyes watching him closely. Her grip on his chin had softened once he stopped fighting her, and was now more of a gentle cup to the side of his face, thumb laid softly in the hollow of his cheek. “She forced me to learn a couple of styles so I could fend for myself, but for anything special, I’d just go to her. I missed this. Not this,” she corrected herself. “This particular moment I could do without. But someone with more artistic sensibility taming my hair,” her grin invited him to join the joke.

“Older sisters,” he gave his head the barest shake, unsurprised when her hold tightened slightly, then relaxed. “Such hard work.”

“No, I’m the older…” she trailed off, eyes narrowing. “Oh, very funny. Remind me to keep you and Phoebe from ever meeting. Younger siblings,” she mimicked, “such trouble.”

Chakotay coughed a laugh, which was a mistake, as his head pulled back slightly to catch a glimpse of the ceiling. Dark brown and inches above their heads. All breath deserted him once more.

“Hey, no.” he heard Kathryn distantly, but he was too gone to catch more than a murmur of her voice. He struggled for breath, trapped in a cave-in far from the home he had scorned, from the place he had tried to make his home and left when they betrayed him, from those he loved and would no longer be able to protect.

Suddenly he was falling. Had the cave floor beneath him collapsed? He braced himself for the impact, but when it came it was soft and warm. His nose was crushed, but a faintly herbal scent surrounded him. Carefully, he tilted his head until he could breathe through his nose again. The clean, fresh scent seemed to revitalize his lungs. He breathed deeply. Sound began to filter back in, and rational thought.

“…used to say I took more interest in how my dog’s fur looked than my own hair.” He could feel Kathryn’s cheek pressed to forehead, voice soft in his ear as she continued a story of which he had entirely missed the beginning. “That was before she even started using cosmetics. Once those came into the picture, I missed the days when all I had to worry about was being forced into a braid.”

He couldn’t smile yet, but he could whisper. “Bet tiny you looked cute in a braid.”

She paused, and he took that moment to figure out that, sometime while he’d been panicking, she’d decided to overwhelm all of his senses to shock him back to reality. Where they had been sitting face to face before, now they were lying side by side, twisted so that his chest was half on top of her torso, face buried in the crook of her neck, knees tangled together in the small space. At the realization, he tried to move off of her, but her arms around his back tightened restrictively.

“I must be crushing you.”

“I’m fine. Don’t you dare move an inch,” he settled reluctantly back down as she continued, “and keep those eyes closed. I take back all the times I wished to exchange Phoebe for a boy. Younger brothers are just as exhausting.”

“Please don’t tell me you see me as a brother,” Chakotay found himself saying before he could censor the thought.

There was a long silence, and he considered that having another panic attack might honestly have been preferable.

“No,” she finally said into the quiet. “But it would make this a little easier.”

It was as close as she ever came to addressing the ‘this’ between them. Dizzy, vaguely nauseous, and held to her chest was not the moment he would choose to discuss it, though. He needed more of his wits about him than that.

“Careful what you wish for,” he told her instead. “This particular little brother at one point hid frogs in his older sister’s bed when she made him mad.”

Kathryn laughed, the sound reverberating through the side of his face pressed against her. “Phoebe put blue dye in my shampoo the morning before a big debate once. I’ve forgotten what I even did to deserve that. I do remember getting her back by programming her hoverbike lock to jam when she was halfway home from school, though. It was practically dark by the time she dragged it up to the house.”

“Remind me to stay on your good side.”

“You too. And to check my bed before getting in, if I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Breathe in, breathe out  
> Trektober: Stuck in an Enclosed Space  
> Fictober: “I missed this”  
> OTPtober: Doing each other’s makeup/picking each other’s clothes  
> Inktober: Dune


	14. 14 October 2373

“May I have this dance?”

Kathryn looked up in surprise. Not so much at the request, but the voice behind it. Chakotay. Asking her for a dance in the middle of what was essentially a diplomatic function. Granted their fast friendship with the Berillians had made it more of a party for the two crews than any form of negotiation, but the principle remained. She opened her mouth to refuse, politely of course, when he leaned in slightly to catch her eyes. They were serious, behind the mask of his genial smile, and urgent.

She ran her fingers over the pips on her collar, four tiny reminders of the armor that she had to build between her wants and her actions, and smiled back at him. “It would be my pleasure, Commander. If you’ll excuse me, Istik Markoli?” As near as they could determine, Istik was the Berillian equivalent to a Captain, and it had been pleasant to ‘talk shop’ as it were with a fellow Captain. Markoli smiled and motioned for her to go ahead. The Berillians were a welcome change from their typical encounters in the Delta Quadrant, and seemed eager for this lone Federation ship to enjoy themselves in their company.

Setting her hand in Chakotay’s outstretched one, she allowed him to steer them into the section of the room set aside as the ‘dance floor.’

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, as soon as they had joined the flow of dancers. It was easier to focus on an emergency than the feel of his hand wrapped gently around the curve of her waist and the sharp, clean scent of him pulling her close enough that they could murmur and still hear one another.

“Paranoid,” he chided gently, then sighed. “One of the foodstuffs we brought up from the planet and that Neelix introduced in today’s lunch menu turns out to have an allergen for which about half the crew has a susceptibility. The medbay is filling up rapidly. The Doctor already has a treatment,” he answered before she could ask. “One hypo, but one of the side effects is knocking the person out for eight hours.”

“So half of our crew is going to be asleep for the next shift,” Kathryn translated, trying not to let the resignation in her voice spill over to display on her face.

“I thought it best to tell you discreetly for two reasons,” his tone lightened, as he teased, “although getting to claim a dance with you was a nice bonus.”

“I assume one of your reasons was tactical, Commander,” she tried not to show her amusement, but suspected her voice gave her away. “Despite their friendliness, best not to tempt the Berillians with a half-manned ship next door.”

“I doubt they’d take advantage,” he admitted. “They seem more likely to want to offer us assistance, but just as a precaution.”

“I agree,” Kathryn quieted her voice still further as the pattern of the dance took them towards the outer edges of the dance floor. “I’ll work it into the conversation once our crew is recovered, just to ensure they’re aware of the potential issue. We should start checking the duty rosters to cover any gaps.”

“I’ve already got Tuvok working on it. He’s one of the lucky ones, by the way. Vulcan physiology is immune to the allergen.”

“Small blessings,” she mentally crossed one person off of the list to worry about. “I should give him a hand.” She made to step away and leave the dance floor, but Chakotay didn’t relinquish his hold and instead stepped further into the dance.

“Commander?” she questioned, allowing him to steer her, but stiffening slightly.

“You didn’t ask about my second reason,” was all that he said.

“And that would be?” she spoke with clear impatience, not caring about her tone.

“The first symptom of the reaction is reddened skin, across the back of the neck, the stomach, and the ears,” he let go of her hand to tweak the tip of one of her ears under cover of a complicated turning step. “I think you better leave now, but not to help Tuvok. Straight to medbay, Captain. Before the secondary symptoms begin to set in.”

Kathryn resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears, or to leave immediately to find a mirror. Instead she just raised an eyebrow, “What are the secondary symptoms?”

“Stomach pains and bodily aches,” he sobered as he captured her hand once more, “followed by intestinal bleeding. We don’t know what’s past that, as only one crewmember has made it that far. Crewman Richardson,” he correctly interpreted her look of concern. “She was the first one to report to Sick Bay. She ate lunch early to get work on a project in before her shift. Luckily, the Doctor was able to identify and treat the allergy quickly with a standard allergen kit. Her recovery will take a little longer, but so far we’ve caught the rest of the crew earlier.”

“I’ll check on her while I’m there,” she promised. “How have you been getting word out?”

  
“There was a general announcement to all other parts of the ship, and Tom and I are circulating through here to check and inform the remainder of the crew.”

“A quarter of the crew must be in here,” she objected.

“It’s been long enough since lunch for the preliminary symptoms to set in, the ears are fairly obvious once you know what you’re looking for, and we have a list of everyone who hasn’t been checked so we won’t miss anyone. The only ones we might miss are those who have already slipped to the secondary symptoms, but they’ll undoubtedly seek out sickbay on their own.” He spoke without pause for breath, clearly having anticipated her objection.

“Well, then,” she decided to find it funny rather than insulting, “seems there’s not much left for me to do. Except go for treatment,” she spoke even as he opened his mouth. “Yes, I got the gist, Commander.”

He had the grace to look sheepish.

“Am I allowed to stop dancing now?” she asked pointedly.

Chakotay leaned back to study her. Clearly reassured by whatever he saw, he moved back in and began steering their steps towards the edge of the dance floor once more. “Only because you’re ill,” he spoke as though conferring a great favor, grin twisting the edge of his mouth.

“Red ears put you off?” she barely stifled a gasp at her own temerity. If it wouldn’t be terribly obvious, she would love to slap a hand over her own mouth. Where had that come from?

Her first officer and erstwhile dance partner missed a step, clearly just as surprised. They were almost to the edges of the dance, but he pulled her in tight and whispered, “Actually, I think they’re cute,” before immediately letting her go into the clusters of bystanders surrounding the floor.

It was just as well. She had no idea how to respond to that. Torn between relief that she didn’t have to think of something and irritation that he had probably known she wouldn’t want to respond, the distraction of working her way discreetly through the crowd, making polite excuses, and emerging into the ship proper was a welcome distraction.

Sick Bay was also a distraction, but less welcome.

“Ah, Captain, I see you were also a victim of our chef,” the Doctor greeted her upon arrival.

Ah, damage control. Such a lovely part of being Captain. “It’s hardly Neelix’s fault, Doctor,” she told him patiently. “All of the foodstuffs were scanned and evaluated for safety for crew consumption. Do we know yet how this one was missed?” 

“A breakdown in the protein upon heating modified the structure enough that it became a rather potent allergen. It makes for a fascinating chemical study. I’m thinking of writing a paper.”

“I’ll look forward to reading it.” The Doctor beamed, clearly thrilled at the support. “I understand the treatment is a basic allergy hypo?” Best to move on before he began to dictate the paper to her aloud.

“Yes, unfortunately the most effective treatment also induces sleep in the patient for the following six to eight hours. I’ve been sending the crew back to their quarters after treatment to sleep the effects off. I would run out of beds, otherwise.”

Kathryn nodded, looking over the beds in question. At the farthest end of the room, past the crewmen sitting on the edges of biobeds or standing next to them, she could dimly see one behind a screen, occupied by a figure lying down. She nodded towards it, “I understand that Crewman Richardson was the first patient?”

“Yes,” the Doctor frowned. “She was at what we now know was the end of the secondary symptoms when she came in just after the end of the lunch period. By the time I determined the cause and treatment, the intestinal bleeding had already started. Her prognosis is excellent. It was lucky for the rest of the crew that she ate early. Otherwise we’d have more than just one case that severe.”

“I doubt she’s feeling very lucky at the moment,” she hoped he hadn’t phrased it that way to the crewman, but had a suspicion that he probably had. “Is she asleep? Or can I talk to her?” The Doctor trailed along behind as she made her way over to the biobed, giving encouraging nods to those of the crew who met her eyes on the way and a clasp to the shoulder for one young crewman who looked particularly unsteady.

“There’s a sound barrier,” the Doctor warned just before they walked through it and the quiet hum of the rest of the room was cut off. “She should be asleep,” he continued softly, moving to check on the vital readouts.

Kathryn circled the biobed, noting that the crewman appeared to be sound asleep, then checked the basic vitals displayed above the bed. Everything seemed normal, except for the elevated blood pressure.

“In addition to the treatment, she’s on a high dose of a moderate pain killer. I’ve repaired the intestinal damage, but I’ll want to take another look tomorrow when the treatment is complete and the inflammation is down. I’d recommend bed rest tomorrow and the day after, before a return to light duties.”

“Sounds reasonable. Note it and I’ll sign off.” Kathryn turned to move away when a soft voice stopped her midstride.

“Is something burning?”

She turned back to find Crewman Richardson struggling to sit up, eyes half open and hazy with confusion.

“Nothing’s burning,” the Doctor calmly replied, hands moving to her shoulders to gently coax her to lie back down. “You’re only dreaming.”

“Gotta sound alarm,” she insisted, pressing weakly against his hands.

“Crewman, please, lie down. Your intestines are still in a very delicate state,” the Doctor sounded alarmed, and Kathryn moved in to assist, wrapping her own hands around the woman’s upper arms.

“Crewman, stay still,” she barked. Richardson immediately froze. The command voice rarely failed on those with Starfleet training, she thought, a bit smugly. It even worked on Chakotay in the middle of a panic attack, rebel though he was. “The situation is under control. Lie back down.”

Quiescent now, the crewman allowed them to ease her back down onto the biobed. The Doctor turned to make a note in the records, while she stayed at the bedside, one hand still on Richardson’s arm.

“Everyone’s okay?” she murmured drowsily, clearly fighting to keep her eyes open.

“Everyone is going to be fine,” Kathryn told her, voice quiet to lull her back to slumber and thumb rubbing back and forth over her arm. “You did just fine. Now close your eyes. We’ll take it from here.”

Soothed, her eyes dropped closed and her body went lax in slumber once more.

“Thank you, Captain,” the Doctor looked up from his notes. “I believe that the pain killer is interacting with the treatment to diminish the somnolent effects. I’ll modify her dosage.” He set the PADD aside and eyed her with a speculative air, under which she found herself setting her shoulders almost instinctively. “Speaking of treatments, I believe there is a hypospray with your name on it as well. Figuratively, of course.”

“Of course,” she nodded, trying to remain serious in the face of what must be his latest attempt to relate to the crew. “I did wonder, obviously this is the most effective treatment,” she started, as flattery was a sure way of getting him into a more receptive frame of mind – or frame of program, as it might be, “but is there an slightly less effective option that would leave me able to function? I hate to be out of reach for six to eight hours. Especially in the middle of a diplomatic meeting.”

“Unfortunately, no,” he answered, motioning for her to follow him back out into the relatively noisier area of Sick Bay beyond the soundproof shield. “The Commander asked about that as well. There’s no alternative treatment, and simply no way to counteract the side effects without negating the benefits.”

“And stimulants…”

“Would either counteract the treatment or wreak havoc on your systems. Or both,” he eyed her sternly, hands loading a hypospray. “I’m sorry, Captain, but this is the only option we’ve got.” He moved to her side, raising an eyebrow at her upturned hands. “I’m certain you don’t need me to cite the appropriate medical regulations for you.”

Sighing, she dropped her hands, allowing him to administer the dose. As he walked away to rack the used hypospray, she rubbed at her neck. All the medical advances of the twenty-fourth century, and they still couldn’t invent a hypospray that didn’t sting.

“Take a seat on a biobed,” the Doctor instructed, pulling up her record on a medical terminal. “We’re giving it enough time to make certain that there are no adverse side effects before we send people off to their quarters. Kes or I will be by periodically to check in with you.”

Nodding, she went and leaned against the biobed nearest the screen shielding Crewman Richardson and observed her crew. They seemed calm, either chatting among those still upright or starting to nod off against the wall. As she watched, two of the crew closest to sleep were gently herded off of their biobeds and turned over to alert-looking crew members who began escorting them out of the door. She would clearly have to leave before that point. Forcing a crew member to escort their nearly falling over Captain would not in any way be appropriate, nor would being seen in the corridors in such a condition. She’d gently suggest to Kes or the Doctor that, as she rarely reacted to medicines, she would be fine to leave for her quarters now.

Given the general trend of her day, Kathryn shouldn’t have been surprised that she failed to get her way.

“I hear you’ve been a menace,” a soft voice whispered in her ear, unpleasantly waking her from the nice doze she was in.

“Hm,” she hummed in what she hoped would be sufficient agreement for the voice to leave her alone. Instead it chuckled, which wasn’t something she probably had to respond to, so good enough.

“She should be fine to rest in her quarters now.” Great, it had been joined by a second voice. Couldn’t they just leave her alone? “Given that she’s been asking to leave at five minute intervals for the past hour, you’d think she’d be a little happier. Even if her last few requests have been barely discernable.”

“Is that why you moved her back here with Richardson?”

“She seemed concerned about the crew seeing her at… less than her best.”

“I see. Thank you, Doctor. It was a good thought, you did well.”

“Oh. Well. Of course. She is allowed to be human, you know.”

“I know. I’ll take it from here.”

The voice returned to Kathryn’s ear, seeming unperturbed as she tried to nudge it away. “I think you’ve worn out your welcome for the day. I’m going to assume that the hand in my face is you promising me you won’t lecture me about misusing ship resources once you’re awake again.”

The rather uncomfortable wall that she’d been leaning against vanished, but before she summoned the energy to complain, she found herself cradled against a much softer surface, warm and comfortable. She snuggled in and the voice huffed in amusement again, the sound reverberating through her.

“Chakotay to Kim.”

“Kim here.” This voice seemed tinny and far away.

“We’re ready.”

“Aye sir.”

She felt the wash of – something – over her and suddenly everything was darker and smelled less like medical. It was almost enough to make her want to wake up.

“Sh. Yes, we’re in your quarters. Nothing exciting to see, no need to wake up for this.”

They were moving, and the gentle sway was enough to send her farther away from the voice. There was something soft beneath her, but the warmth moved away from her and she struggled to get it back. Once more the quiet laugh rolled over her, and then she knew nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Is something burning?  
> Trektober: Medbay  
> Fictober: “you better leave now”  
> OTPtober: Slow dancing  
> Inktober: Armor


	15. 15 October 2373

A soft noise in the other room pulled Chakotay’s attention from the PADD in his hand. Had he heard something or only imagined he heard it? Should he check? He felt this was a venture into the unknown, watching over Kathryn in her own rooms, not Sick Bay. Fully in possession of his faculties, even as hers were muddled. Was this crossing the line?

When he had laid her on the bed, though, not removing even her shoes, he had been unable to force himself to leave her quarters. In slumber, indomitable presence muted in unconsciousness, she had looked so small. He had managed to make it to the main room, but couldn’t bring himself to leave her unprotected while so vulnerable and drugged. It was ridiculous. He suspected that, even drugged, Kathryn Janeway would make anyone who considered her a vulnerable target pay for that presumption dearly. Yet, here he still was, taking over her chair for the night.

Another sound, but this one was the door sliding open, revealing Kathryn standing unsteadily on the other side. Quickly, Chakotay rose from his seat, discarding the PADD on the coffee table.

“What are you doing up?” he asked softly, resting a hand on the small of her back, trying to steady her unobtrusively. “You should be out for at least another four hours.” Besides it was the so late at night as to be almost early morning, even on a normal day she ought to be asleep – provided she hadn’t been fortifying herself with coffee, her last outpost against the ruthless demands of her body.

“Cold,” was all that she said, wrapping her arms around herself before turning into Chakotay’s arm and tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

He paused, arms stiff and mind whirling.

“Chakotay?” she mumbled, “All right?”

Something in him relaxed even as it ached; she was still Kathryn, even drugged, still checking on him even as she played fast and loose with the parameters they’d so painfully set up. Kind and cruel at the same time.

No, he shook his head, beating back the confusion of his own tiredness. Just drugged and cold, not meaning to be cruel, not this time. He sighed, and wrapped his other arm around her, tugging her close against his chest. She burrowed in, making a happy sound that brought a smile to his face.

“Let me raise the room temperature and get you another blanket,” he spoke as he rested his chin on her head. She was just the right height for it. Just the right height for him to be able to kiss the crown of her head. Dispelling the thought, he went to move them back into her bedroom, but she resisted. Laughing lightly, he whispered to her, “We can’t just stand here all night.”

She leaned away from him at that, enough that he could note she looked grumpy. It was a look that said so clearly she was not interested, thank you, in moving from this spot. It delighted him to see, even though it shouldn’t. How many people did she let see her so human, so real? Caught in the thought, he moved unthinking as she pulled them further into the main room.

“Where are you going?” he asked, although it only took a few more steps for him to realize she was on a path to the couch. “You don’t want to sleep there,” he objected. “It’ll kill your back, for one thing.”

Halted by the cessation of his steps, Kathryn tugged on his arm once more. When he stayed unmoving, she looked up at him through her lashes, and simply uttered, “Please?” as though she knew it was the only act she needed to get her way.

She was right, darn her. Chakotay sighed.

Somehow, he was entirely unsurprised when they wound up in the same position as they had just five nights previously. She was tucked up against his side, using his chest as a pillow, throw wrapped around them both, as he resigned himself to requesting an analgesic for his back in the morning.

“If this keeps up,” he told her as they settled in, “you are going to have to get a better couch.”

Warm again, Kathryn was gazing sleepily around, seemingly not quite content to slip back into slumber just yet.

“Work?” she asked through a yawn. Following her line of sight, he spied the PADD he had discarded earlier.

“No,” he stretched out and retrieved it with the tips of his fingers. “Pleasure, for a change.”

“Hm.” It seemed like an interested hum, so he thumbed the PADD on and picked up where he had left off. She wasn’t likely to be able to follow a thought or remember this in the morning, anyway.

“Without knowing why  
culture needs our knowledge,  
we are one self in the canyon.  
And the stone wall  
I lean upon spins me  
wordless and silent  
to the reach of stars  
and to the heavens within.

It’s not humankind after all  
nor is it culture  
that limits us.  
It is the vastness  
we do not enter.  
It is the stars  
we do not let own us.”

“Poetry?” she mumbled, eyes at half-mast and falling fast.

“One of my father’s favorite poets,” he told her, safe in this quiet space of near-sleep. “Simon Ortiz. My father said he worked hard to keep the voice of his people alive.”

“Hm.” This was an understanding, almost comforting, sound. He studied her face, trustingly resting against his chest, and wondered that he could read meaning into her small noises. Perhaps they had a poetry of their own between them. Perhaps he was just tired, too, but he liked the thought. He would keep it, here in the breaths between them.

Raising the PADD again, he began the next poem, voice quiet while Kathryn’s weight grew heavier as she went lax in sleep.

“My oldest sister wears thick glasses  
because she can't see very well.  
She makes beautifully formed pottery.  
That's the thing about making dhyuuni;  
it has more to do with a sense of touching  
than with seeing because fingers  
have to know the texture of clay  
and how the pottery is formed from lines  
of shale strata and earth movements…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Into the unknown  
> Trektober: Cuddling for Warmth  
> Fictober: “not interested, thank you”  
> OTPtober: Reading to each other  
> Inktober: Outpost
> 
> For those interested in the poems, the first is the end of "Culture and the Universe" and the second is the beginning of "My Mother and My Sisters," both by Simon J. Ortiz. He's a wonderful poet; if you liked these snippets, definitely check out his work!


	16. 16 October 2373

What was that story she had been reading to Naomi just the other night? There was the tale of a girl exploring the cosmos in a rocket she drew – a rocket that looked more like an attempt at modern art or an early unmanned craft than a shuttle, but was clearly space-worthy through the power of belief and not physics. However, the story she was trying to remember had been after that one. Something about an awful day, but with a lot of adjectives. A terrible bad day? No, she had it. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Naomi had giggled every time she said the phrase and, by the end, had been chanting it with her.

It also perfectly described the day she just had – was still having, she corrected, sitting back and rubbing her knees from where she had just spent too many minutes kneeling in front of a panel. It was the Berillian’s day of rest, which meant that it should have been a day of playing catch-up on the PADDs that tended to accumulate while she was off performing diplomatic duties. Voyager, however, had decided to stage a protest by bringing down the entire internal communications system, for no apparent reason.

No reason that B’Elanna had yet discovered, anyway, despite hours of trying and some truly inventive cursing. While the investigation and linguistic creativity continued, the only way of restoring comms was manually, individually rebooting the communications relays throughout the ship. All hands that could be spared from other duties had been volunteered for the effort to bolster the numbers that could be freed from Engineering. That included their Captain, who was painfully aware that if she ran through the diagnostics and made one more suggestion, B’Elanna might decide to use Hector to beat her over the head next.

Stretching out her neck, tilting it from side to side, she didn’t attempt to conceal her smirk. There was no one to see it in the Jeffries tube, and Kathryn felt virtuous that she had managed to hide it when she’d noticed that B’Elanna’s tricorder was now sporting a shiny new case with tiny silver engineering symbols all over it. There was also a row of Klingon writing along the bottom, but her Klingon was not up to the challenge of puzzling out the meaning and certainly not fast enough to avoid being caught staring.

Kathryn sighed, glaring slightly at the unit in front of her. “If you felt your needs weren’t being met, couldn’t you have just filed a complaint?” she murmured to her ship, then glanced sideways to make sure there truly wasn’t anyone within earshot. She’d never figured out a way to ask another Captain if they ever talked to their ship, and suspected they wouldn’t fess up to it even if they did. Well, Chakotay might. But bringing up his ship could stray into the Maquis territory that they didn’t talk about. Between his past, her opinions on the Cardassian treaty, and anything to do with either of their feelings about each other, it was a wonder their conversations weren’t more reminiscent of a minefield.

Chakotay. The reason, if she was being honest with herself, that today was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Sure, the morning had been spent knee deep in reports and the afternoon – possibly evening now – spent pleading with Voyager and crawling through the bowels of her ship, but it wasn’t the worst day she’d ever spent in the Delta Quadrant.

No, what made it terrible, horrible, and a whole lot of other adjectives besides was its contrast to the previous day.

She had woken before Chakotay this time, which had made things much more complicated. Should she get up? Would she wake him? But what if he woke and found her still laying there? Yet she wouldn’t have traded those moments for all the peace of mind that waking up alone on the couch would have brought her. For once she could stare at him unabashed, not worried that he would catch her in the act and raise one of those damning eyebrows. Instead, she could look her fill, watch him breath, sink into the heat he put out like a furnace. Here, cradled in the crook of his arm with his firm shoulder the pillow beneath her head, she could dare to ghost her fingers over his arm, spelling out words she couldn’t say aloud. For a moment, just one, she could let herself dream a little.

He had woken up as she watched, so she had to pretend to be newly awake as well, and hope that the awkward untangling of rising from the couch and apologizing for her drug-induced decisions would cover her poor acting skills. Chakotay had been clearly in pain after a night spent on the torture device someone in Starfleet had the temerity to name a suitable furnishing, so it had been natural to fetch him something for the aches and demand he stay for breakfast so that she could make sure it took effect.

Breakfast, a meal she typically skipped. Why eat when you could have coffee? Only it seemed more worthwhile when she could share it with him. Tease him about his tea, and pretend not to notice as he snuck more fruit onto her plate. The meal had faded into duty hours, hours spent side by side handling the bridge, then another luncheon with the Berillians who seemed very fond of conducting their meetings over meals. It was a pleasant change from their usual violent or strictly professional encounters, but Kathryn wondered how many more days it would take before she would need to go up a uniform size.

After the meal, they had combined their usual walkthroughs of the ship – both feeling the need to stretch their legs after the Berillian definition of ‘a light repast.’ An experiment in the Science division had sucked her in, and she emerged from the glow of Sciencing only when Ensign Wildman had broken up the party to shoo all of her science officers off duty. Since she could hardly shoo the Captain, as Chakotay had gravely informed Kathryn later, the Commander felt it was his duty to assist. As his form of assistance was to lure her away to the mess hall with the pronouncement that Neelix had managed to make something surprisingly edible that all scans indicated wouldn’t poison anyone this time, she had reluctantly acquiesced. A minor disagreement over dinner had led to an evening in his office, pinning down the best route forward based on the charts exchanged with the Berillians, the latest scans from Operations, and prospective flight paths designed by the conn. Neither of them had been right, or both of them had been half-right, so their squabble wound up as a very neat compromise. Chakotay had escorted her to the door of her quarters, wished her pleasant dreams, and then left as she stepped over the threshold.

Only now, she had to pay the price. Everyone did, in the end, for their dreams. Only it seemed cruel of the universe to make her pay so much when she had taken so little.

Her rooms had seemed silent and cold after such a day, and she had tossed and turned for hours. Sleep had only come in the very early morning, after she had given up and gone to read in her chair, wrapped in the throw from the couch. No one would ever ask, but if they did, she would deny that it still smelled like him.

The alarm waking her after a few short hours had not improved her temper, now did any of the hours after, full of reports and failing equipment and circuitry. Full, but not with the one person she kept expecting to see out of the corner of her eye. In Engineering she had slipped up and talked to him once, this non-existent figure at her shoulder. Luckily, B’Elanna had assumed it was directed at her.

This is no way for a Captain in her position to act, Kathryn lectured herself sternly. She had a ship and a crew that she needed to keep in one piece and get home. This wasn’t the Alpha Quadrant with the luxury of backup, charted territory, and friendly ports. Out here all they had was Voyager, and sometimes she felt as though she was holding all of it, all of them, together by sheer will alone. She was responsible for them, had been entrusted with their safety and, until she could fulfill that trust she had broken by stranding them out here, what right did she have to dream?

With effort disproportionate to what was required, she began to pack her kit to move on to the next relay.

“I see that I’m just in time.” She almost sprang to her feet at the voice, remembering in the last instant that all she would get for her pains was a concussion. “Withdrawals must have set in, judging by the state of that kit.”

“I beg your pardon?” It was weak, but all that she had to offer as the object of her musings made his way down the Jeffries tube towards her.

Chakotay waited until he reached her, shuffled around until he was sitting, and unstrung the pouch from around his neck before explaining. “I come bearing provisions.” He pulled a stasis container from the bag and passed it to her. “Neelix was very concerned that you didn’t appear with any of the repairs crews for meals and I solemnly promised I would hand deliver this. He was about five minutes away from coming after you himself.”

“Bless you,” she murmured. Neelix on top of a day like today might have proven too much for her. “Should I ask what it is?”

“I recommended that he bypass his new culinary marvel and rummage up some leftovers from yesterday.” He grinned, and she wondered what her expression had given away. “I thought that might tempt you.”

Her stomach chose that inopportune moment to growl, and she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. With a laugh, he produced a set of cutlery from the bag and set it atop the container. “On the basis of you actually eating,” he eyed her mock-sternly, “I also snuck this along.” This time his hand emerged with a cylindrical vessel, which he opened ceremoniously, unleashing into the narrow space the scent of…

“Coffee,” she breathed, setting the container aside and reaching for it. Chakotay pulled it back and she summoned up her best glare. “I haven’t had a single cup in hours, and I never wanted anything else this much in my life, are you feeling brave enough to stand in my way, Commander?” Kathryn managed to hold the expression for several seconds after he unleashed his dimples, which she thought was a great feat in the face of such disarming obstacles.

“Dinner first,” he remained resolute, recapping the container. “I can’t break my promise to Neelix.”

“Oh well, if it’s for _Neelix_ ,” she pretended to grump, retrieving the meal and cracking open the lid. “Didn’t you bring yourself any?” she asked, noticing after the first heavenly bite that she was eating alone.

“He’s saving me some of the new special,” Chakotay shook his head. “So I’m all set.”

“I heard about that special. Why do you think I decided to skip the meal break?” she wrinkled her nose at him, and firmly suppressed the thought that she was doing it specifically to make him smile. “I’m not going to eat the only edible food tonight in front of you. I’m not that mean of a Captain.” She set the container between them and moved to hand him the fork.

“Captain,” he objected, but she gave him a Look that was apparently functioning better than the glare.

“I’ve had practice with Naomi now,” she threatened in her deepest growl. “Don’t think I won’t unleash the airplane noises.”

He snorted and capitulated, taking the fork from her while shaking his head. “Truly, an awful threat.”

Something in her heart wanted to ache terribly, if she was willing to let it. But she shoved it deep beneath her ribs, to keep company with the loneliness and fear and loss already mired there, kept at bay with duty and responsibility. And coffee.

Chakotay took a bite from the container, then gravely passed the fork back to her, fingertips brushing. Kathryn smiled and took the fork, took comfort in this one bright moment in the depths of her fragile little ship, and tried not to count the cost she would pay in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day  
> Trektober: Comms  
> Fictober: “I never wanted anything else”  
> OTPtober: Tracing words on each other’s skin  
> Inktober: Rocket


	17. 17 October 2373

She was doing it again.

Chakotay didn’t know why he was surprised. Disappointed he could understand, even resigned or slightly angry – but surprised? It wasn’t as though he could say ‘I didn’t see that coming.’ Of course he had seen it coming. He had just chosen to once again foolishly hope for the best.

It was a dance they were caught it, but unlike the one they had shared at the luncheon for the Berillians, neither of them had asked the other to begin it and their timing was off. The two of them seemed to fight to lead, heading in different directions, missing beats and queues, but then – just when any reasonable dancer would admit defeat – there would be a moment of grace. They would come together in perfect time, footsteps flashing in unison, trading off leading and following with equal confidence. For that moment, it would be the most perfect waltz he had ever hoped to experience.

And then she would do it again.

“The Berillian negotiations need my attention. Rain check on the walkthrough? I’ll do a quick one later. No, don’t bother to wait for me.”

“I should catch up on all of the reports. Plasma injection rates wait for no Captain! A working dinner? No, I think I’ll review them in my Ready Room. There are some supplementary reports I think I’ll need and it’s easier to pull them from there.”

“Coffee break? Oh no, Neelix just left a thermos of his latest Better-Than-Coffee blend. I promised him I’d give it a try. Maybe later? Assuming I survive this ‘triumph of culinary mastery.’”

Chakotay had friendships drift away before, had dated before, had been rejected before – he knew what a polite brushoff looked like. He wasn’t so desperate for her affection or so infatuated that he wouldn’t be respectful enough to stand aside and quit trying if he were certain that his attentions were unwanted. If he could only stop looking at her when she rebuffed him, it might be enough... but he hadn’t strength enough to do that. Not when he could see the sadness in her eyes as she retreated to her Ready Room, the downturn of her lips as she barricaded herself behind reports, even a wistfulness to her body that he was certain was not intended to be caught as she watched him leaving the Bridge.

He had tried once. Tried to cut through the complicated push and pull of the ties that circled them uncertainly. Stopped asking her to anything recreational, resisted tempting her to meal times or crew events, and even let fall by the wayside evenings spent together over work. Two weeks was all he had lasted before he couldn’t bear to disappoint the moments of silence that fell between them where his invitations used to rest and the resigned look in her eye, which said she had expected nothing more.

So what was he to do? Couldn’t push forward, couldn’t pull back, were they to be stuck in this endless, imperfect waltz forever?

Even art wasn’t helping tonight, all of his sand paintings turned to a chaotic mix of color leading nowhere. He had tried drawing instead, but all of his sketches were of her, or something that reminded him of her – a rain globe, a Starfleet badge, a cup of coffee. Even when he tried to recreate DS9 or the Enterprise, they seemed to twist into the shape of the Caretaker’s Array or the outlines of Voyager. Exasperated he gave in, pulling a new sheet of paper to cover his previous failures.

Glaring down at the page, Chakotay selected a pencil and sketched with grim determination. The bump of her nose, the arch of her cheekbones, the force and shimmer of her eyes rendered as best able with only the lead to lend them depth. The curve of her neck and the neckline, not of her high Starfleet collar with those damning pips, but the blue dress she had worn one night on New Earth – a blue the color of her eyes and lines that hugged her rib cage before flaring out to flutter over her hips to hint at just the length of her thigh above the knee.

To this effigy he gave the minute or the hour that was hers for the asking, if only she would ask for it. Carved her every detail out of the paper, and hesitated at the end. She lived on the page, but the look in her eye wasn’t the light he had seen growing daily on New Earth, the flashes of spirit that inspired her crew, or even the warmth turned to him on occasion. No, it was the look he’d seen tonight, as she politely declined his latest invitation, this one for no more than a visit to the mess hall.

Distant, sad, staring through him at something that he could never quite catch a glimpse of, study her as he might. Without conscious acknowledgement, he turned his pencil to the white space around her, darkening the clean expanse, jagged lines and roiling curves spilling from his hand.

Done, he sat back and took in the complete image. Kathryn, in her strength and beauty, turned slightly away from him, but looking back to meet his eyes directly all the same – bravery never in question. Those eyes, dark with some hidden meaning. And above her head a storm rolling in, thick and fierce, clouds blotting out the sun and heavy with the weight of what was yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: I did not see that coming  
> Trektober: Other Trek Crossover  
> Fictober: “give me a minute or an hour”  
> OTPtober: Drawing each other  
> Inktober: Storm


	18. 18 October 2373

She was tired, but the stack of PADDs and reports in her ‘outbox’ and absolutely nothing to get through in her ‘inbox’ more than made up for it. Odd, she mused, propping her head up on one hand and eyeing her completed work with satisfaction, how such antiquated terms had survived – long past the days of boxes to hold work incoming and outgoing.

It was probably beneath a Captain’s dignity to fold her arms on the desk and pillow her head on them, but there was no one here to tell on her and this was the most at peace she’d felt in two days, so Kathryn was willing to risk it. Letting out a sigh and rubbing her forehead against the scratchy cuffs of her uniform jacket, she wished it was as easy to tame her thoughts as her to-do list.

She’d forced herself to retreat back to a proper, Captainly distance from Chakotay – from her first officer – and had yet to find that usual weight of contentment within herself at doing the right thing. The rationale was sound, the principles guided by more and greater minds than her own, the actions approved... and yet here she was at a time she was genuinely afraid to contemplate, working through days worth of work and considering napping at her desk rather than face a bed where she would find no rest. She sighed again into the crook of her elbow, mind spinning back up from temporary satisfaction into overdrive once more.

Sometimes she found herself wondering if fate or destiny or what have you was real, and hoped it was just so that she might get to ask it one day, ‘why did you choose me for this?’ When her mind started wandering down those roads, it soon drifted onto the well-worn paths of all the mistakes she had made on this ship, for her crew, in her life, and the prospect of sleep vanished entirely. She pressed her face harder into her sleeve, deep enough that she had to breathe through her mouth. Maybe there was something in Engineering she could tinker with that B’Elanna wouldn’t hunt her down for afterwards.

The chime on her door rang out and she straightened quickly, running a hand over her face in the hopes that she didn’t have uniform marks on it.

“Enter,” she called, only to feel a jolt of relief followed by a rush of panic as the door slid open to reveal Chakotay – the Commander.

“Good morning,” was all that he said, but the tone of voice and raised eyebrow had her checking the chronometer on her monitor before she could censor the action. She supposed it was morning, although just barely. “Getting a jump on things?”

Kathryn narrowed her eyes at him. She knew that tone. He knew that she had been up all night. He also knew that she knew that he knew it. So what he was really asking is if she was going to lie to him about it. It was too late in the evening, or early in the morning, to deal with this sort of headache. It was almost as bad as time travel.

“How can I help you, Commander?” A nice professional response, and one that meant she didn’t have to answer any of his questions.

“I was just in Sick Bay. Crewman Richardson is ready to be released to light duty and, as you were already up, I told the Doctor that I would update you in person.”

It was amazing how he could add so much insinuation to five little words. ‘As you were already up’ deserved to be a sentence all its own with his efforts.

“That’s excellent news,” she focused on the relevant portions of the statement. “He doesn’t anticipate any lasting effects?”

“She’s suffering from some minor memory loss, amnesia, for the time that she was most sick. There shouldn’t be any permanent harm, however, provided that she sticks to his orders.” The corner of Chakotay’s mouth quirked and he hesitated.

“What?”

“The Doctor _suggested_ that we let him tell her that she was under orders not to overdo it or break the medical proscriptions. He said it might… stretch our credulity to have to say that with a straight face.”

Kathryn couldn’t decide whether to be outraged or amused. By the glint in – the Commander’s eye, he had opted for amusement and was waiting to see where she fell. They were both such terrible patients. For a beat, she almost said it aloud to commiserate over the woes of medical.

“And your response?” she asked instead, neutrally.

“That I was certain Kes could handle the situation with her customarily superb bedside manner.”

She had to look down to hide her smirk at that rebuttal. They weren’t good patients, but the Doctor still had a ways to go in learning the subtle art of tact – and reminding him of that might check him in pointing out the foibles of others.

“Thank you for the update, Commander,” she told him, once she trusted herself to look up once more. “You didn’t need to come all the way up here for that, but I appreciate the news.” Nodding, she looked at her screen as though it held more interesting information than the Starfleet logo and hoped he would take her response as a dismissal.

For a moment, it almost seemed as if it would work. He stepped backwards, and she could almost predict that his next words would be about seeing her on shift, with a subtle dig at the hour. Then he stepped forward once more and she braced herself.

“Permission to speak freely?”

Closing her eyes, she narrowly resisted the temptation to rub her knuckles into them. She was far too tired for this.

“What is it, Commander?” 

Silence. Nervous, she looked up to find him just standing there, watching her.

“Commander?”

“Have I done anything to make you uncomfortable?”

Kathryn slammed her jaw shut where it had dropped open in surprise. That was not where she had expected this to go.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve been… unhappy the last few days. And avoiding me, I think. I don’t mean to be presumptuous, or assume that nothing else is going on, but if it’s something that I’ve done I want to apologize for it. And make amends, if possible.”

She didn’t know how he did it, despite having watched him in action over the past three years. Where she would have gone left, he went right; she would have pushed and he pulled; expecting an argument, here he was with an apology. What was she meant to do with this? It would be so easy to just accept it and push him away. Easy, but wrong.

“Chakotay,” she interrupted herself, “Commander. You haven’t done anything to make me uncomfortable. It’s just been a long couple of days. That’s all.”

“I had thought that the meetings with the Berillians were going well, and the comm issue was resolved.” He frowned down at her. “Is there something else going on that I should be aware of?”

“No,” she searched her mind for a plausible excuse and could turn up nothing. “Just stress. Tension. Been too long in the Delta Quadrant,” she attempted a joke, “I expect disaster when everything is going well. Don’t you see it? That twitch in the corner of your eye that makes you look twice when everyone’s smiling.”

“Ah,” he smiled. “I think I’ve been prey to that once or twice myself. Luckily, our guests have the perfect solution: a distraction.”

“A distraction?” Again her mind came up blank. She blamed the lack of coffee, since Tuvok had cut her off two hours ago.

“The welcome banquet in three days, well two days now, when we reach Beril?” Now he looked truly concerned. “Didn’t you get word about it?”

“Yes,” Kathryn nodded more vigorously than required, remembering Istik Marcoli’s excitement at getting to introduce them to the Berillian home world. “You’re right, that should be very distracting. As will the day after tomorrow.” She refused to admit that it was just tomorrow at this point in the morning. “Hosting a small party of dignitaries on board Voyager should make things exciting. I suspect it’s their way of vetting us before we get to the planet’s surface. Just in case the Istik was taken in by our manifold charms.”

“Well, we are very charming,” Chakotay’s dimples flashed, reminding her of exactly how charming she found the man in front of her. “We should work out a plan for their visit. The usual dignitary tour, but if the Hkrecti’s crew is anything to go by, a banquet would go over well.”

“Yes, very true.” The memory of their new friends’ enthusiasms about communal feasts brought a smile to her lips despite herself.

“We’ve meetings most of the morning, but just after the Senior Staff brief should work. I’ll add the appointment,” he carried on through her confusion and straightened to leave.

“Appointment?”

“To work out our plan,” he stated, as though it were obvious. “If we want it in place tomorrow, we should get it finalized this morning.”

“Commander,” she began, unsure how to break the meeting, but determined to keep their conversations few and far between.

“Captain. Kathryn.”

She looked up sharply at her name, but his tone continued calmly, earnest and respectful.

“You don’t have to share what’s wrong, but I’m not such an idiot to think that a technical glitch and a handful of the friendliest aliens we’ve yet to encounter are enough stress to drive you to work through the night. If you say I haven’t done anything, then I believe you. If you can’t share your problems with me, I would never force you. I won’t stop doing my job, however, which includes doing all I can to make your burden lighter. That includes planning for an invasion of remarkably pleasant aliens who we need to charm the life out of.” He took a deep breath, as though not expecting to have gotten through the speech without interruption. She wasn’t certain why she hadn’t interrupted him, actually. “So, I will see you at the Senior Staff briefing, and then after.”

“I suppose you will,” she managed, as the silence stretched long. With a nod, he executed a perfectly correct turn and left the Ready Room.

Somehow, the snick of the doors sliding shut after him sounded almost like the jaws of a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Panic! At the disco  
> Trektober: Amnesia  
> Fictober: “you don’t see it?”  
> OTPtober: “Why did you choose me?”  
> Inktober: Trap
> 
> A/N: Sorry for the delay - a storm came through Sunday, knocked out the power, and toasted my venerable old laptop. It's taken a few days to recover, but I'm going to try to catch up! I'm hoping it still counts as long as I get all the prompts posted in October, so I'm going to do my best :) (And if not, I still want to know how the story ends! It is as yet a surprise to me...)


	19. 19 October 2373

“I can’t do this anymore,” Chakotay muttered beneath his breath, barely loud enough for the Captain to hear next to him. From the corner of his eye, he could see her suppress one of the smiles she was so loathe to give him recently.

“Courage, Commander,” she breathed back, and raised her glass high as the Grukrt, the Berillian form of an Ambassador, proposed another toast.

He swallowed heavily and mimicked the motion. Where on Voyager was she managing to put all of this? They still had two courses to go and the Berillians only knew how many toasts. He was almost down for the count and his tiny Captain who ran on coffee and pretended food was for lesser souls was merrily soldiering on. He eyed her sideways. The old scheme of hiding it down the sleeve of the uniform? That would hardly work for so long a feast. Some trick worked out with the transporter? She’d never waste resources like that. Hollow leg?

Clearing his throat and running a finger around the suffocating neck of his formal uniform, Chakotay decided it was probably best not to think on Kathryn Janeway’s legs if he planned to survive this ordeal by food. One delicious torture at a time.

“You will honor us with a visit tomorrow, yes?”

He tuned back into the conversation at the reminder of the upcoming diplomatic visit. Despite his wishes, Tuvok’s wishes, and Federation regulations, the Captain was in fact planning to visit Beril tomorrow. They had argued that there should at least be one landing party to check on the situation ahead of her, just in case, but she was adamant. The Berillians, she had determined, would take it as a personal insult if the Captain they had heard so much about did not head the initial meeting and they didn’t have enough friends in this part of the universe to chance it.

As a compromise, Tuvok would go down with her, as well as a security detachment. And Neelix. The Berillians had a surprising fondness for Neelix, although given their love of feasting, perhaps it was not wholly a surprise.

“We have prepared an excellent feast for you and the Commander,” one of the Grukrt’s party, an aide from what they could tell, piped up in excitement.

“I will be delighted to attend,” the Captain interposed smoothly, “but the Commander is handling matters on board while I am enjoying your hospitality.”

The party looked collectively dismayed.

“You will visit without your first?” the Grukrt’s eye stalks drew back and his secondary set of arms drooped slightly, claws clacking. Chakotay watched curiously. As far as they could discern without asking indelicate questions, the clawed arms were vestigial limbs of limited use. They did seem prone to revealing the speaker’s emotional state, however; somewhat like the tail of a cat. “Have we offended?”

“No, certainly not,” she was quick to cut off that line of thinking. “Our custom is simply to have one of the command team on board at all times, when possible.”

More eye stalks were joining the dance of distress, and the subtle clack of claws was spreading.

“We could have the feast aboard the Hkrecti,” Istik Marcoli offered swiftly, “if you do not wish to leave space. We would be most honored to host you again.”

Despite the undoubted sincerity of the offer, Chakotay noted that her claws were tightly clamped one to the other. He didn’t blame her – hosting an entire ambassadorial party onboard her ship would be no easy matter.

“We would never put you to such inconvenience,” the Captain had apparently decided upon which horns of the dilemma she was going to impale herself, and somehow he just knew he was going to be the one who wound up having to explain the next sentence about to come out of her mouth to Tuvok. “Nor do we wish, in any way, to slight your generosity. If you wish the Commander to visit as well, then he can accompany me to the surface. Our second in command will stay behind instead.”

“I would be delighted,” Chakotay lied through his teeth, already scheming how to make certain she got to bring up this little change in plans with their resident walking Federation Rulebook. Having not only the Captain, but both of the command team off ship on a previously unvisited alien planet with no means of setting up layers of security and unable to protect them himself was going to drive Tuvok to the brink of whatever Vulcan's had instead of despair. 

The complete change in atmosphere from the tiny click-click as of castanets to the slow tap-tap of a few happy clacks was enough to make him dizzy. Although that could also perhaps be explained by the sight of the second to last course approaching the head of the table.

“You will not regret the decision to visit, Captain, Commander,” the Grukrt offered, good humor restored. “Istik Marcoli has described to us some of your culture and we believe that you will enjoy a theater piece by one of our newest authors, Brugrt. It seems to have some similarities to one of your own authors, she tells me?”

“Yes, I believe that Istik Marcoli talked of him with me. He was the one who seemed reminiscent of an old Earth playwright, William Shakespeare.” She sat back as her plate was removed, with a smile to the crewman playing waiter for the evening. On his heels, a fresh plate and napkin were laid down by another crew member. “She spoke of a play titled ‘Broken Hearts,’ as I recall?”

From farther down the table, the Istik confirmed the memory. “It is very moving in the first act, when Hfter stands in the sea to declare to Yltre on her lonely sandbar that, 'I am going to marry you one day, this I vow by the constancy of the tides.' Their love is so profound, despite all the forces of their families to put them asunder. I dislike that it ends in tragedy, however.”

“I agree, Istik,” Chakotay gave her a smile, in hopes of lightening the sad look on her features at the thought of the unbearable sorrow of Hfter and Yltre. “I prefer a happy ending, myself.”

“It is a comedy that we have planned for you, so that is as well,” the Grukrt’s eye stalks drifted in slow circles in satisfaction. “We hope you will find enjoyment in it.”

“I’m certain that we will. We haven’t had the opportunity to enjoy a performance in years. We’re very grateful for your hospitality.”

The Grukrt’s eye stalks stretched tall with gentle rotations and his claws spread open in pleased affability. Unsurprising – if Chakotay had been on the receiving end of that smile and tone of voice he would undoubtedly be doing the human equivalent.

“Now what is this interesting delicacy?”

Attention returned to their plates as Neelix began to hold forth from his end of the table. Reviewing the dish contemplatively, he wondered if there was any chance a person could actually explode from being forced to eat too much. Suddenly his eyes shot to Neelix and he could see half of the table’s occupants sit straight in attention. The half comprised of the Voyager crew.

“And what is a ‘leola root?’” the Grukrt asked curiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Broken hearts  
> Trektober: Formal Uniforms  
> Fictober: “I can’t do this anymore”  
> OTPtober: “I’m gonna marry you one day”/”I’m gonna have kids with you one day”  
> Inktober: Dizzy


	20. 20 October 2373

This was not at all what she had expected. Granted, Starfleet had drilled into it’s recruits that going into a contact situation with an alien culture with any expectations was a recipe for, at the very least, disappointment and misunderstandings. _Did I ask for this_ , she wondered grumpily, _by harboring assumptions?_ However, she didn’t think that the idea of clearing the decontamination process without issue was an unreasonable expectation.

Sighing she tilted her head back against the wall behind the cot that was the only seating in the tiny quarantine cell, then scowled down at her PADD. They’d graciously let her keep it, and she did mean that without sarcasm. It was her only form of entertainment and the hours were already slowing to a crawl even with its support. The imperfect compatibility of the Federation and Berillian systems meant that they couldn’t achieve instantaneous transmission, only regular downloads of accumulated materials. She’d gone through all of the reports that Tuvok had sent in the first download, and was biding her time for the second.

He was probably feeling satisfaction at her plight, a suitable revenge for going to the planet against his advice. Not that he would admit to it. But he would raise his eyebrow at that particular angle that indicated ‘don’t you wish you’d listened to me,’ dryly list the regulations against Captains on away missions once more, and she would get the message that he considered this all her own fault even as he maintained a perfectly stoic Vulcan expression.

Chakotay would probably do the same. Oh, not The Eyebrow and regulations, but he would give her a crooked grin and ask about the accommodations in an overly respectful tone, which meant clear as anything that if she had stayed on the damn ship then her accommodations would have been her own quarters and not a four meters squared box.

Why was she thinking about Chakotay?

It was only sheer luck that he wasn’t in the cell next door. They’d both been infected by the plant that she would forever think of as The Tentacle Plant, but only she had also been subsequently poisoned by Neelix. The treatment for the second had counteracted some of the effects of treatment for the first at the final stages of the spore’s death, and left her with traces of the spore still in her system. Not enough to effect her, or infect anyone else hopefully, but enough that it would take an additional twenty-four hours to clear from her system. Twenty-four hours that the Berillians, very apologetically, demanded she spend in quarantine before she was loosed on the general populace of either Beril or Voyager in order for them to ensure she would not and had not infected any of their people.

It was an entirely reasonable request, and of course she had acquiesced. Which left her for the next twenty-four hours – twenty now – stuck in a tiny cell contemplating the ways that her senior officers were going to rub this one in.

The beep of her PADD distracted her, and she opened the latest download with a grateful heart. Never in her life had she hoped for reports, but she’d take anything at the moment – and there might be one in there from Chakotay about what was going on outside of this cell on the planet. He’d promised regular reports, but wasn’t certain when he’d be able to file them. It was probably too early, but she could hope.

The PADD finally spit out the menu list of file options for the download. She could feel her eyebrows raising. There was one from Chakotay, an audio log, that she was thrilled to see. What were the other files, though? They bore the marks of her senior staff, but none of the file names made sense in a professional context. Had there been some mix-up with the download? Scanning the list, she spotted one text file titled ‘Explanatory Note’ with Tuvok’s signature and opened it, hoping it would clarify the rest of the list.

**Captain:**

**The Doctor has reviewed the decontamination scans provided by the Berillians. While he concurs with their determinations and course of action, he has concerns about certain hormone levels that indicate inadequate** **sleep** **. He has, therefore, logically recommended that we permit you to take this opportunity to rest without concern for ship’s affairs.**

**I will provide a summation of the relevant statistics of the duty shifts as they conclude. You will find the first such shift report included in this download. Vital information, should any arise, will be delivered to you as usual. Additionally, any reports marked for your attention from Commander Chakotay concerning proceedings on the planet’s surface will be forwarded.**

**For the rest of the** **files** **, Mr. Neelix took it upon himself to solicit feedback from the senior staff regarding ‘restful’ materials and insisted that they be included. The Doctor saw no harm in the selections and approved the compilation.**

She was going to kill them when she got back. 

Carefully setting the PADD to one side before she gave in to the awful temptation of flinging it at the wall, she folded her hands across her stomach and scowled into middle distance. Actually, she should probably limit herself to killing only former-Lieutenant Tuvok and the Doctor. Or whatever the equivalent of killing a hologram turned out to be. Rampant reprogramming down to the base sequencing? Or maybe revenge would be better than simple death. Putting them to work scrubbing the plasma manifolds with a toothbrush was a tempting idea.

Snatching the PADD up again before the temporary pleasure of imagining her retribution could give way to frustration at her current inability to accomplish any of those actions, she scrolled down the list with a vicious slide of her finger. She skimmed through the bare bones details that Tuvok deemed ‘sufficient information’ for the duty shift report, and turned to the only actual piece of relevant information in the packet: Chakotay’s report on the planet-side activities.

_ Captain _

Somehow, with one spoken word, he managed to loosen the tension across her shoulders that had been growing since the first sentence of Tuvok’s ‘explanation.’ She wasn’t certain that she wanted to lose that tension before she could vent her fury on a certain Vulcan and hologram duo, but continued to listen, nonetheless.

_ I will file an official report at the end of the day, per regulations, but wanted to provide you with initial observations in preparation for your release. It’s the Berillian’s mid-day period of rest at the moment, which offered a good opportunity to record my activities so far. _

His voice continued, and Kathryn slouched lower in the bed until she gave up all pretenses and laid down. Head resting on the pillow with one arm behind it to prop her up slightly, she laid the PADD flat on her stomach as Chakotay’s voice filled the room. Unlike in his official reports, which were always entirely correct, he seemed to view this recording as more of a conversation between the two of them – albeit one in which he was the only participant. Along with the recital of the schedule he was following in the Berillian’s eagerness to show off the best of their planet, he was giving her his thoughts, his perspectives, his opinions. Closing her eyes, she moved the recording back to listen to his description of the shoreline once again.

_ The waters are pristine. Standing on the edge of one of the pavilions, you can see straight down to the seabed with only a slight tint hinting at the purple of the seas. I was astonished when  _ _ Grukrt Asblt’s counterpart, Grukrt Frtry, told me the depth was actually 4.5 meters at that point. It stands to reason, given their deep respect for the waters and the role it plays in their biological processes, but still a stunning sight. With the water clarity, I could even see some of the coral outcroppings offshore, just this line of vivid colors wavering in the distance. I’ve been told that during the tide movements the water roils wildly and visibility is poor, but through some chemical process that Vrnk Mstru will be only too delighted to explain again should you be interested, the edges of the waves turn gold. I can only imagine that it must seem as though the sea is laced with filigree, an ever-changing piece of art. We are  _ _ scheduled _ _ to go and see the morning tide tomorrow, provided that you receive a clean bill of health in time.  _

The rattle of the door as a tray was slid in roused her several hours later. Disoriented, she sat up and remembered where she was at the sight of the PADD that had fallen to her lap. Thumbing it on, she saw that the recording had played out while she slept. She’d have to backtrack to find where she had left off. Checking the time, she was astonished to find she’d slept for over six hours, straight through the third download and into the dinner hour.

Her first thought was that Tuvok and the Doctor could never know that she’d actually slept during her enforced ‘vacation.’

The second was that Chakotay could never know it was his voice that had lulled her into one of the most peaceful slumbers she had experienced since their arrival in the Delta Quadrant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore  
> Trektober: Decontamination  
> Fictober: “did I ask?”  
> OTPtober: A leaving cute voicemails for B while they’re away  
> Inktober: Coral


	21. 21 October 2373

The door shut behind him with a satisfying click, and Chakotay let out a long, slow breath. The Berillians were a warm, welcoming people and getting to know their culture better was fascinating, but there was a certain pressure to serving as the face of the ship, and of the entire Federation in this case. In his early days of thrill at the very idea of first contact, he had yet to deal with carrying the well-being of an entire crew in his hands. The Berillians seemed as delighted with Voyager and her people as they were with the Berillians, and the majority of the day had been a free and easy exchange – but the weight of knowledge that his words and actions might shift the fates of a hundred and fifty odd people never entirely lifted.

The Berillians mid-day rest period was a blessing in giving him an opportunity to set it to one side for a moment and reflect upon the day thus far. The meditation gave him perspective on events and kept him from course correcting erroneously, or missing signs that there was a need for correction. Perhaps he’d reflect via recording again. Talking through the day in recordings to the Captain had been almost therapeutic yesterday, although he had debated the wisdom of sending them unedited. He had been balancing between remaining clearly professional and providing the support she was so reluctant to lean upon, and concerned that the recordings had leaned too far out of the nebulous line he was walking. 

On review, however, there was nothing overtly personal in the material, just more of his opinions and impressions than he would let into an official Starfleet report. Starfleet wouldn’t care to receive his opinions on the appearance of the canals that wound through the city in the setting of the twin suns to the north. Nor would he want any personal part of himself to linger in their databases, gathering the cyber equivalent of dust for the ages. Giving his thoughts to Kathryn, though, was a gift that he hoped she would accept.

Shaking off his lingering doubt, he stepped away from the door. He should see if he could catch the health and safety official before the start of the rest period to see if there was an update on the Captain’s release. As it turned out, red tape was a constant throughout the universe and had delayed her joining them in the morning. Surely by this time there would have been some progress. He had spent the last day with a nebulous fear that he would get a message stating that she had admitted to some version of ‘I don’t feel so well,’ and grow ill once more.

Activating the screen, Chakotay was inputting the contact information when he heard a noise from the other side of the door to the sleeping and washing compartments. Moving lightly, he retrieved his phaser from the bedside table and moved to one side of the closed door. He put his hand out to turn the knob in one swift movement, when it swung outward of its own accord. Quickly, he grabbed the intruder and pressed them to the wall, phaser to their throat.

“Captain?” his tongue stuttered, losing grip of the harsh syllables it had meant to ask.

“Chakotay?” in his grip, she moved her hands back from what he belatedly realized would have been quite a painful counterattack. “What are you doing?”

“Why are you in my room?” as an answer, it was feeble, but it was the only thought in his mind.

“Your room?” her eyes flicked over the sitting room, and he realized that his customary tidiness probably made it seem unoccupied. “I was told…” she trailed off, then glared at him. “Could we have this conversation without a phaser at my neck?”

Startled, he looked down at his own hands, then jumped back, keeping his hands low and away from his sides. 

“I’m sorry. You startled me.”

She snorted, then moved to take a seat in one of the deceptively comfortable chairs. “I imagine I did, if you weren’t expecting company. So, why did the Berillian escort inform me that these were my rooms when you were already here?”

“A mistake?” he offered, doubtfully, sinking onto one of the hard-backed chairs. It was less comfortable, perhaps, but didn’t require assistance to rise from it as the other chairs did.

Kathryn echoed his doubt with a scrunch of her nose. Given how well-orchestrated their visit had been, aside from her unfortunate quarantine, it seemed unlikely that their sleeping arrangements would have been overlooked.

“Are the other away team members double-booked?”

“No. They’re all in this hallway as well, in similar layouts, one to a room. The three rooms across from us, and one to either side, are theirs.”

“Perhaps a security feature that the Berillians follow or that Tuvok requested without informing us?” her voice did not sound hopeful of that outcome either.

“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally

She sighed, and rested her heads in her hands.

“They think we’re a couple, don’t they,” her tone was muffled, but flat.

“That’s the likeliest answer,” he agreed, placing his own hand over his mouth to disguise a rueful smile. It was at the recurring misunderstanding across the Delta Quadrant, not at this particular situation, but he didn’t want her to misinterpret the act. Not with her mood of late. Although, he belatedly noted, she had at least called him by his name and not his rank. Hopefully it didn’t require a phaser for her to repeat it.

“Why does this keep happening?”

Chakotay bit back the answers that he wanted to give. That even species who had never laid eyes on a human before recognized attraction when they saw it. That after three years, they could hold entire conversations without talking, which might seem odd and like a telltale sign to most sentient beings. That he had never been terribly good at hiding his affections. That, according to B’Elanna, the Captain wasn’t terribly good at it either, he was just generally oblivious.

“It could be a custom of their culture, the pairing of the command crew. We’ve certainly encountered that before.”

“I don’t think Istik Marcoli is involved with her first, though,” she emerged from behind her hands as she thought the idea over. He hid a smile again. Give Kathryn Janeway a change to ponder an hypothesis and all those pesky emotions vanished by the wayside. He found it hopelessly endearing. “But I haven’t seen any overt signs of pairings in any of their interactions. Have you learned anything about their domestic customs over the last day? No, you didn’t have anything in your reports.” To his curiosity, she blushed as she finished her statement in a mumble. 

“I did learn a bit this morning, at least from historical context,” he let the blush go, not sure how to puzzle out the meaning. “They tend to form multiple unions throughout their lives, sometimes with the same partners, sometimes with new ones, changing as their stage in life progresses. Unions are typically comprised of three to four members, although numbers from two to six are not uncommon. The basis of the unions – romantic, sexual, child-rearing, affection, etc. – was difficult to discern. It either varies dependent upon the members of the union and the life stages, or they categorize relationships in a different way than we are attuned to notice.”

She nodded at the end of his summation. “Not too drastically different than our own, and seems in keeping with their open and communicative society. Though it doesn’t really answer for their assumptions about our relationship or how we should address it.”

“Do you not want me to mention it to the aide after the rest period?” He could feel his eyebrow rising. “At least to request an additional room?”

Gripping the arms of the chair, she made an abortive movement to rise, looking surprised when the chair sucked her back down. He got up and lent her a hand, grinning at her expression of consternation.

“Mike rescued me yesterday,” he confided, “or you would have come in today to find me still stuck.”

He got a bright grin in return, before she seemed to recall herself, retrieve her hand, and begin to pace across the room.

“I’m not sure we should correct the assumption,” she admitted. “When the aide showed me to this room, he stated something to the effect that the Grukrt hoped we especially would like the accommodations, as it was our relationship that made them comfortable in dealing with Voyager. It was in a flood of other information,” her hand waved out towards the window, “I didn’t pay it much heed at the time. A solid command team is often viewed as a representation of the ship. We look for it enough.” This time the wave was flung in Chakotay’s direction. 

“So if their assumption that we are together was the basis for their trust,” he deduced slowly.

“Exactly,” she confirmed before he finished speaking. “We risk upsetting that trust. I don’t mean to lie to them,” she answered his next concern before he could voice it. “If they ask us, we’ll tell the truth, of course. Just continuing as we have been seems the best option. Let their assumptions stand or not as they decide.” She stopped pacing, resting her hands on her hips, and looking as determined as she ever did when deciding to follow a plan come hell or high water.

This once, he wasn’t inclined to argue with her. The reasoning was sound enough. Besides it gave him an excuse, and her entirely no excuse not, to begin steering them back towards the shoals of the friendship she had hastily abandoned five days prior. At the least, maybe he could get a clearer understanding of why she periodically shoved him, and at times their crew, to stand at arm’s length from her with no clear provocation.

“Tuvok will be thrilled. I can almost hear him telling us that it will provide increased security to have both of us in a centralized location surrounded by the security team.”

With a noise of disgust, she turned back around, eyed the comfortable chairs suspiciously, and perched on a dining chair. “Were you a part of his latest plot?” 

“Plot?”

“No, he probably kept it on Voyager. He and the Doctor decided that my quarantine was the perfect opportunity to ban me from work. I dread the thought of the reports I’m going to have to catch up on.”

“Hm. That explains the rather cryptic communication I got from him yesterday. He’s processing the reports in our absence and will provide us with a summary on our return, apart from the relevant details he’ll forward on a daily or as-needed basis.” Chakotay decided it was probably in Tuvok’s best interests not to pass along the largest bit he had misunderstood, which was now clearly a request that he not send work to the Captain while she was in isolation. Hopefully his audio reports hadn’t interfered in their plans too badly. “To be honest, I was grateful. I wasn’t looking forward to the pile of PADDs that would be awaiting our return, either.”

Kathryn knit her hands together in a clear effort to stop some gesture she didn’t want to escape. “A unilateral decision on his part, though,” she grumped in a lower key.

“Fairly standard, though, isn’t it?” Why was she set against Tuvok easing their way through a diplomatic visit? He knew it wasn’t because she didn’t trust him. “Managing ship’s business while we’re away. Granted we’re typically not gone at the same time, but it does happen on rare occasion.” Not as rare as Tuvok would like, admittedly. 

“I,” she paused and, to his relief, unwound her hands and settled back against the chair. “I suppose. It was just a surprise to have it sprung on me in the cell.”

“Cell?”

“The quarantine isolation,” she gave him a crooked grin that soothed something in him he hadn’t even realized had been hurting for the past few days. “It was minimalistic, but not a prison, I assure you. It seemed to get smaller without any work to do, however.” Her scowl threatened to return.

“He truly sent you nothing?”

“Yes. Well, no work. Aside from about five lines of statistics on the ship and your reports,” she looked down, “thank you for those. Neelix apparently pestered the staff into sending me ‘relaxing materials,’” the quotes were audible in her tone, “but I haven’t looked through them.”

“You know he’ll ask when we get back,” Chakotay cautioned.

Grimacing, she got up and went to the pack he belatedly saw propped against the wall near the door. He had been distracted when he came in, but he should have noticed that, he thought with chagrin. Digging through it, she headed back towards the table with a PADD in hand.

“He confined himself to the senior staff, at least,” she remarked, setting it between them as she sat back down. “Will this mid-day break be long enough for you to give me the morning run down and get through that as well?”

“My morning report shouldn’t be too lengthy. The preliminary observations yesterday gave the background information and personnel details, which took the most time.” Getting a nod in permission, he thumbed the PADD on and looked down the list. “Huh.”

“What is it?” she sat up to peer around his hand. He tilted the PADD back towards her.

“I’d say you probably want to spend a bit more time with this than just a skim through right now,” he pointed to one line. “Neelix must have been very persuasive. I know that’s B’Elanna’s favorite novel. She read it when she was thirteen and carried an actual paper copy with her for years until it was incinerated in an unfortunate fire shortly before our last mission that led us here. And this,” he pointed to a file further down the list, “didn’t Harry mention at the last movie night how this was the composer who made him decide that pursuing music and science wasn’t mutually exclusive?”

“I hadn’t realized,” subdued, she took the PADD from his hand and stared at the list of files.

“That they care for you?” he asked softly, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground.

Her eyes when she looked up held something he couldn’t quite translate. Something almost like fear that he didn’t understand. 

She cleared her throat and looked back down, “I’m their Captain.”

“They respect the Captain,” he continued cautiously when she didn’t seem inclined to say anymore, “but they care about you, Kathryn.” He hated that she treated herself like two different people, Captain Janeway and Kathryn, with only the Captain receiving any time and attention. If it helped her compartmentalize the stress of this journey, he wasn’t sure it was his place to take it away, but if it could at least be used to emphasize that all of her was cared for then this, this might make it all worth it.

“I’m their Captain,” she reiterated, biting down on her rank, then swallowed hard. “I should unpack.” Without waiting for a response, she gathered her pack and headed back into the further rooms.

Chakotay settled back, willing to wait until she came back to him to hear the details of the morning. In the meantime, he pondered this how this reaction fit in with what he knew of her. It seemed as though every time he thought he had a clear image, some new piece would shift everything and transform it into something else. He wondered what this piece would reveal.

It was better than wondering what it meant that the PADD had showed his reports had been accessed twenty times over the previous day.

Or whether she had yet to notice that the sleeping area only held one bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: I don’t feel so well  
> Trektober: Fake Relationship  
> Fictober: “this, this makes it all worth it”  
> OTPtober: Movie night  
> Inktober: Sleep
> 
> AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED!!! I finally get to use that trope, I am so excited.


	22. 22 October 2373

Be careful what you wish for, Kathryn told herself, stifling a yawn as she looked up from her PADD to check on Chakotay once more. She’d spent the whole afternoon and evening desperately wishing for some way to avoid the awkward conversation they were bound to have about sharing a bed, and look where that had got her. Sitting at the bedside, thinking that at least she would have gotten to sleep after the awkwardness instead of having to remain awake – she checked the time again – for another hour and a half. She rubbed a hand over her face and decided that she would spend tomorrow’s, no, later today’s mid-day rest period actually resting. The Doctor would be shocked.

Chakotay would probably feel guilty, though. It wasn’t his fault, in fact one could argue that he had actually done her a favor. They had been practical at meals, neither taking what the other was eating, to mitigate the chance of a poison or reaction incapacitating both of them. On a peaceful planet, it was generally overkill, but in this case it had spared her the unpleasant side effects of a food not entirely compatible with their human systems. She certainly didn’t envy the hour he spent throwing up, although at least the subsequent five and a half had been simply an uneasy sleep. At the eight hour mark, she had been assured it would be safe for her to cease her watch and get some sleep. At the eight hour mark it would also be 0500 and nearly time for them to rise, so she doubted she would make the effort.

As if he sensed her eyes on him, Chakotay began to toss slightly.

“Shh,” she tried, reaching out a hand to pat his shoulder. “Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Kathryn?” Her name was indistinct, but she knew the shape of it on his tongue.

“We’re on Beril, you ate the critiklik, which all of us are now going to avoid, and are sleeping off the effects. You’ll be fine, I’m fine, the security team is fine, Voyager is fine, and the Berillians are very apologetic. Particularly the chef. I think you could ask him to serve you his own claws on a platter and he would comply to make amends,” she recited. After several hours, she knew all the questions he was going to ask before he could even make it to that point. She wondered if this was what telepathy was like.

Silence lingered for a moment, and she wondered if he had actually dropped back down into slumber with all of his immediate concerns addressed.

“That’s a very complete list,” came slowly out of the dark instead.

“You’ve had a pretty one-track mind tonight.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s hardly your fault. You should try to get some more sleep, though. It’s the best thing for you at the moment, I’ve been told.”

“Not sure I can,” he made a movement as though to sit up, then abruptly ceased.

“I wouldn’t get up if I were you,” she leaned forward again, to stop him with a hand on the shoulder if he wouldn’t listen to reason. “You’ve been through the wringer tonight.”

“I’m getting that impression,” he groaned slightly as he resettled back on the bed.

Silence fell between them again, and she was just beginning to wonder if she should return to her PADD when he spoke up again.

“Why are you still awake? It must be late.”

“The Berillian doctors and our tricorders indicated you should be fine, but the eight hours after you ingested the food were the most uncertain. I’m here just in case.”

“You’ll be exhausted in the morning.”

“I’ve stayed up all night for lesser reasons. Besides,” Kathryn hesitated, unsure if she wanted to bring the recent past between them, but acknowledging that doing less seemed unfair, “you did the same for me.”

The quiet that greeted the answer made her even less certain that she’d made the right call.

“I believe that I at least got to lay down,” was not the response she expected.

“Considering my couch, I’m not certain if that makes the situation better or worse,” her mouth moved ahead of her brain, joking about what she’d half-considered to be history that she would never refer to again.

“And neither should you not at least slightly improve your evening,” he gave the bed next to him a tentative pat. When she didn’t move, he continued in an even tone, “I assure you, your virtue is entirely safe. Sitting up seems beyond me, let alone anything farther.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “I know I’m safe with you.” Closing her eyes, she blamed her loose tongue on the hour.

“Well then.”

Kathryn opened her mouth to make a rebuttal, and then shut it again. What really could she say? It was hardly appropriate to crawl into bed with her first officer, but between the Berillians, Chakotay, and herself, she’d been neatly painted into a corner. Rising slowly, she carefully slid onto the bed, trying her best not to make it move with any great motions. Despite her efforts, she could still hear Chakotay swallow heavily.

“Sorry,” she whispered, as though her voice would make the bed move still more. Gingerly, she settled on the other pillow.

“Did you convince Tuvok to send you more reports?”

“What?” she turned her head, only to find him looking back at her from a space that seemed much closer than the length of a pillow.

“Your PADD.”

“Oh, no,” gratefully she turned her head back to find where she had left it and picked it up once more. “I was going through what Neelix sent me.”

“Anything catch your interest?”

Idly, she woke the screen with a tap of her thumb. “Tuvok included a book he knew I’d read before, Dante’s _Inferno_.”

There was a pause, before Chakotay asked, “Tuvok sent you a book that  relates a voyage through hell?”

“You’ve read it?” It was an Earth classic, but not a wildly popular one. She hadn’t read it before Justin had given her a copy. They had read it to each other, turn about, under the trees in Indiana as they recovered from his rescue of her from Cardassian hands.

“No, I just know of it.” He shifted slightly, then froze and began a series of slow, shallow breaths. Kathryn froze as well, not wanting her movements to agitate the bed in any way. “How does it begin?” he managed, breathily, after a few moments.

She fumbled the PADD, buying herself time.  _The Inferno_ was private, as private as anything she possessed. Even Tuvok didn’t know why she carried the copy of Dante’s book with her to every posting. He only knew that it must be a touchstone for her, and had likely included it by way of an apology for how he reasoned she would take his actions during her quarantine.

As she slowly scrolled back to the beginning of the book, desperately attempting to think of an out, a memory came back to her unbidden. Fuzzy around the edges, and from a great distance, she could hear Chakotay’s voice. It wasn’t the words that had lulled her to sleep on the Berillian cot, though, but softer and  in cadence.

“ _It’s not humankind after all_  
_nor is it culture_  
_that limits us…”_

“You read to me,” she spoke in surprise, without thought, “when I was ill.”

“Yes,” Chakotay answered slowly. “I didn’t think you’d remembered.”

“It was lovely,” she said, almost absently, trying to remember more. She was met only with silence. About to ask what he had read, the memory surfaced, tinged with exhaustion and contentment and the warmth of his shoulder beneath her head, his arm around her back.

“ _One of my father’s favorite poets…”_

Fingers trembling, she cut to the beginning of Canto I. No one had ever praised her voice, it was too strident, hardly melodious, but as she read aloud the words Dante had penned all those centuries ago, Chakotay’s shallow breaths evened out.

“Midway upon the journey of our life  
I found myself within a forest dark,  
For the straightforward path had been lost.  
Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Do these tacos taste funny to you?  
> Trektober: Telepathy  
> Fictober: “and neither should you”  
> OTPtober: Sleepy late-night cuddling  
> Inktober: Chef


	23. 23 October 2373

“Kathryn,” he whispered, muffling a laugh. “Kathryn, wake up a little.”

An indistinct noise came from the vaguely Captain-shaped huddle of blankets crowding him off the bed.

“You just need to shift over a bit,” he explained.

This noise sounded disgruntled and, more importantly, the bundle did not move at all.

He gingerly tucked his hands under the entire mass and tried to shift it right, receiving what was probably an elbow to the ribs for his efforts.

On the bright side, his grunt of pain seemed to stir something in the depths of the coverings.

“What?” a voice mumbled, and a tousled auburn head popped out of the pile.

“Could you please move over?” Chakotay tried to sound as polite as he could, considering it was some unearthly hour of the morning and now his ribs hurt. “You’re taking your half out of the middle.”

Kathryn blinked and looked around, seemingly trying to figure out where they were and what had happened. She wasn’t waking up as quickly as she usually did. It was probably his fault, he admitted guiltily. After staying up the previous night with his food poisoning and then talking over their observations during the rest period, she had been running on two days with no sleep. He wasn’t sure how much rest she’d gotten beforehand, in quarantine – she had been reluctant to discuss that subject for some reason.

“Chakotay?” her voice was starting to clear, but comprehension appeared to be lagging.

Tentatively, he put out a hand and nudged her over, which she complied with obediently, shuffling until all of his limbs fit on the bed once more. He twisted his back in relief. Hanging onto the edge of the mattress had started to become a strain. Eyeing the head poking out of the twisted mass of sheets and blankets, he wondered if he could obtain a secondary goal.

“Any chance of you sharing those covers?”

She looked down at the blankets trapped around her, then over at him with his feet tucked under the edge of a sheet.

“Oh.” Chakotay squinted through the dark. Was that a blush?

“You must be freezing. Here,” she struggled to unwrap the coverings from herself, and he reached out to help when he saw a free edge.

Oddly, it wasn’t until he was under the covers, her body heat enveloping him as much as the blankets, that he realized how cold he was. Tugging the layers up farther, his hand brushed hers and she hissed.

“You’re like an ice cube. Here, I,” her voice dropped away as her arm tentatively moved across him, until she was pressed to his side. Hardly daring to breathe, he worked an arm underneath her until they were tucked as close together as they had been on her couch all those nights ago. “You should have woken me sooner. Phoebe always did say I hogged the blankets.”

“Not to disparage your character, but I’d say she’s right,” warmth was spreading through his chest, although his hands and feet remained stubbornly cold. “At least you’re helping to warm me up,” mentally, he winced at how that sounded and hurried on, “We do keep ending up like this.” Now was probably time to quit talking. At this rate he was going to end up trying to sleep on a dining chair.

She stiffened against his side, and somehow managed to put distance between them without actually moving. “It’s just to get you warm. And I apologize for those other times.”

“Apologize?” He tried to think of a way to take that without being insulted. “For falling asleep on me? Or for telling me that I matter to you, or that you trust me when you’re vulnerable.”

“I was compromised. I shouldn’t have done that.” Kathryn shifted, as though wanting to move away, and he let himself shiver slightly so that she wouldn't.

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t agree to. And, for pity’s sake, all we did was sleep.” She wallowed in guilt and moral dilemmas like they were her precious bathtub, but there were limits to how far he would indulge her.

“It’s not professional. I’m your Captain.” If a person could come to attention while lying down and wrapped around someone else, then she had just given it her best attempt.

Chakotay tried to gentle his tone. He didn't want them to have a full-blown argument in the middle of the night, which is what this could rapidly devolve into. “You’re my Captain on the Bridge, on duty. I like to think that after hours, when we’re having a meal or arguing about the most pivotal mission of the original Enterprise under Kirk, that we’re friends. All you did was act like a friend.”

“You know the necessity for command distance, you’ve taken The Moral and Ethical Issues of Command. One day I might have to order you to your death. How can you possibly trust me to do that without that perspective?” Her tone changed with his new tack. Less hard and unyielding, more persuasive. He didn't know, however, if she was trying to persuade him or herself.

“I do know the doctrine of command distance, and there is a place for it. I’m not advocating for abandoning Starfleet principles and establishing a democracy onboard where we vote on every command decision. But, Kathryn, we would go knowingly to our deaths not because you’re this monolith out of reach, but because we know you. We know your strengths and your weaknesses, we know the logic of your judgment and how you temper that with compassion, we know that you wouldn’t ask us to die if there were any other way.” He gave her a moment, but she didn’t seem willing to offer a counter argument. Lowering his voice to almost a whisper, he mentally crossed his fingers as he addressed what he had started to theorize was the real crux of the issue. “Do you truly believe that holding us at a distance will protect you if you have to give that order?”

Silence, but he could feel her breath pick up and her fingers tighten on his arm.

“I may not know everything I’d like to about you,” he continued quietly after a time. “I don’t know why you’ve suddenly decided to try your hand at art, or if it is sudden and not just something you didn’t have time for in the previous years on Voyager. I don’t know your favorite color, your favorite vegetable, or why Dante brings you comfort. But what I do know, Kathryn, is that you already care about our crew, from Tuvok on down to whoever has currently earned enough of B’Elanna’s ire to be scrubbing plasma conduits. You care, and you would give that order anyway if you had to, and we would follow it.”

He dared to begin rubbing his thumb up and down her arm, where he was holding her to his chest. It was little enough for what he was going to say next, but it should be done quickly, like ripping a bandage off or delivering bad news.

“What you’re afraid of has already happened. You care now and, if one of our crew dies at your orders, it will hit hard. And it should, we owe them that. Kathryn, by locking us all out, you’re not preventing yourself from being hurt. You’re just building up regret. Spirits forbid, if B’Elanna died tomorrow, would you be relieved that you never read her favorite novel and got the chance to talk about it while you both snuck away to memorize circuitry in the Jeffries tubes like the nerds that you are, or would you regret it? You can’t keep out the bad, by refusing all the good. Emotions don’t work like math in that way.”

Chakotay  let the silence wrap around them again, giving her the space to process.  It was more than he had expected to say. Apparently this had been building inside of him more than he realized.

“Tomatoes.” 

“What?” That was not what he expected to break the silence.

“My favorite vegetable.” She sighed, and he could feel goosebumps rising where it ghosted over his neck. “I’m not saying you’re right. I can’t so lightly set aside Starfleet recommendations. But my favorite vegetable is tomatoes.”

“As long as you’ll think about it, I can’t ask anything more. I trust your brain.” Silence threatened to fall awkwardly between them, and she shifted under his arm. He freed his other hand from the blankets and reached over to ever-so-lightly tap her on the nose with his forefinger. “But a tomato is not a vegetable.”

Her eyes crossed briefly at his finger, before focusing a mild glare at him. “Don’t even start. Taxonomy aside, humans categorized foodstuffs based on similar tastes and uses. Tomatoes were used in a vegetable sense, so they were called vegetables, and they are vegetables.”

“Kathryn Janeway, arguing against scientific classification,” he raised his eyebrows in mocking shock. “Can I believe my ears?”

“We weren’t talking about the scientific sense, we were talking about the culinary sense. If you want to argue about the biological features of the tomato that link it closely to the strawberry, fine. If you plan to cook with a tomato, however, I don’t particularly want tomato ice cream.” In probable revenge for the nose tap, he squirmed at the poke to his ribs.

“That’s dirty pool, ma’am.” She just poked him again, and he laughed. “Careful before I retaliate.”

“Don’t start a fight you can’t win,” she advised, but placed her hand back on his chest. “I’m not ticklish.”

“Hm,” his eyes narrowed at her smug look. “Is that truth or propaganda?” Whatever response she would have made was drowned out by a yawn.

“Go back to sleep. We can discuss tomatoes in the morning.”

“Do we have to?” To his surprise, she stayed where she was, closing her eyes even as she tucked her head slightly closer to her chest. Thinking about his argument had somehow translated to letting herself be close to him again, which wasn’t a result he would complain about, even if he didn’t understand it. 

“What? Sleep or debate about your shocking lack of scientific rigor?” he whispered. All he got in return was a mutter that he suspected contained a few aspersions on his character and some vague threat that he should probably worry about come morning as it involved both 'B'Elanna' and 'nerds.'

Smiling widely into the unseeing dark, he closed his own eyes, drifting off warmed through to the tips of his toes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: What’s a whumpee gotta do to get some sleep around here?  
> Trektober: Jeffries Tube  
> Fictober: “do we have to?”  
> OTPtober: Forehead kisses/nose boops  
> Inktober: Rip


	24. 24 October 2373

It had been a pleasant day, as they all were on Beril. They were at the dinner that marked the end of the five day period of greeting with which the Berillians honored new contacts with whom they hoped to create lasting ties, and their hosts in their brilliantly festive attire left Kathryn feeling a bit wistful that Starfleet had gone the uniform route. It made practical sense, of course, but compared to the finery of Mlthtc Rnwrd, the Berillian Head of State, and Grukrt Frtry, the Senior Ambassador, she and Chakotay looked entirely out of place in their plain, matching uniforms. Sartorial envy aside, however, the evening was going well and she was mentally congratulating her team on making a new friend without anything going awry.

There was probably a bylaw somewhere in the Starfleet regs that cautioned against premature celebration, and some spirit of chance had undoubtedly whipped it’s head around and thought ‘are you kidding me’ even as the notion crossed her mind.

This particular signal of a need for said bylaw, should it not already exist, was a distraught Berillian bursting into the banqueting hall, eye stalks gyrating wildly, calling, “They have come! The Verqut have surfaced!”

Grukrt Frtry, the Senior Ambassador, rose to his feet, as did Mlthtc Rnwrd, the Berillian head of state. Further from the head of the table, her officers shifted uneasily, but Kathryn made a slight gesture to keep them seated and at ease. It would not be as easy to subdue her first officer, already framing his body to keep between her and the doorway, so she didn’t bother to try. He might be larger, but she was quick. If necessary, she could get past him.

“Calm yourself, Fr-Grukrt Tsmin, you’re not making any sense,” Grukrt Frtry motioned the younger Berillian to one side of the room and talked with her quietly. From what she understood of the Berillians titles, Fr-Grukrt was an under-Ambassador or Ambassador-in-Training. A bit like a cadet, in her understanding. If her training was anything like the Academy, there would probably be quite a lesson coming her way about not bursting into rooms with foreign dignitaries and yelling wild announcements. Kathryn would probably be sorrier for her, if she wasn’t having to keep one eye on the youngest of her security team to ensure he wasn’t getting any romantic notions of martyrdom. Tuvok had deemed this a low-risk way of getting some real-world diplomatic experience in for a junior member of the security team, given the size of the team and the lack of expectation that they would encounter real difficulties on Beril. It was a good plan, except that if there was an attack, she suspected there would have to be an order for another of the team to ensure that he didn’t attempt to do something ‘heroic.’ She saw Chakotay make a hand signal of his own and Lieutenant Burgdorf split her attention from the door, to halfway between the door and Ensign Nguyen. Patting his upper arm in a quick thanks, Kathryn focused entirely on Grukrt Frtry’s return to the table.

“My apologies, Mlthtc, Captain, but there have been some developments that could use further attention. If it would please you, Mlthtc, we could use your input. Grukrt Asblt has the honor of escorting you back to the departure facility, Captain. I apologize that I will not be able to see you off personally.”

“Of course,” she waved off the apologies. “But is there any way we can be of assistance?”

“Thank you, Captain,” the Mlthtc’s eye stalks waved genially, although they seemed perhaps subdued. Chakotay was better at interpreting the Berillian’s body language. “It is probably nothing of alarm. We have enjoyed having you as our guests.”

That was easily enough translated as a politely worded ‘it’s none of your business,’ so she did the diplomatic thing and moved through the farewells, allowing Grukrt Asblt to usher them out of the hall. The team ranged around her, seemingly casual, with Chakotay at her side and the others positioning themselves in a loose half-circle to the sides and back. She was pleased to note that Lieutenant Burgdorf continued her observation of Ensign Nguyen, placing him between the left and rear points. She’d have to remember to tell Tuvok that this one had the rudiments – assuming that he didn’t already know.

As the Grukrt pointed out a topographical feature to their left along the horizon, Kathryn noticed an odd movement out of the corner of her eye. Feigning a respectful interest on the skyline, she turned her head back to the front slightly to see what had distracted her attention. In the center of the path ahead was a pile of dirt, which looked as though it had been dug up recently from the moisture of the pile. It was out of place, but not particularly alarming. She tapped Chakotay’s forearm, to nudge him around the mound as they approached it, but as he faced forward again at her touch the ground shifted alarmingly beneath them.

Her touch turned into a hold on his arm and he reached out to her as well, fighting to maintain their balance. Grukrt Asblt cried out and fell. As Kathryn turned to try and catch him, she saw her crew had lost their footing as well and done the sensible thing by kneeling down. She pulled downward on Chakotay’s arm to try and bring them both to their knees when the ground beneath them split open and they were falling. 

Her arm throbbed in pain as Chakotay yanked her to him, wrapping his body around hers. They twisted in mid-air and she she watched in horror as the ground above their falling bodies sealed shut again.

They twisted again, Chakotay kicking off off the seam closing fast behind them to get his body underneath hers.

Then there was darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: You’re not making any sense  
> Trektober: Diplomatic Mission  
> Fictober: “are you kidding me?”  
> OTPtober: Matching outfits  
> Inktober: Dig


	25. 25 October 2373

The first thing he  noticed was the scent. Hot air laden with the aroma of growing things, thick in the back of the throat. The next thing he noticed was the ache spread throughout his body. It felt like the one time he’d been fool enough to agree to full-contact wrestling with a half-Klingon. The final thing that slammed into him were the memories.

“Captain,” he sat up and immediately regretted the movement. His mind was saying ‘leap up and find Kathryn,’ with his body heartily replying ‘nah, I think I’ll just collapse right here, thanks.’ Luckily, he had great experience with ignoring his body’s demands.

“You’re awake,” a relieved voice off to his right answered.

Squinting, he saw a form move over to him until it was close enough to make out Kathryn’s features in the low glow of phosphorescence that surrounded them. 

“We survived.” At the last moment he changed his question to a statement. Clearly they’d survived. Either that or the afterlife was far different than he’d imagined. 

“Seems so. How are you feeling? We landed on this moss-like vegetation, it has quite a bit of give, but that was still a hell of a fall.”

Cautiously, he moved all of his limbs. “Sore, but more or less in one piece,” he concluded. “You?”

“The same. Although I daresay I got off easier. You landed on the moss. I landed on you.” Her tone was disapproving, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Her disapproval of him ensuring her safety was not one of the entries on The List. The List was something that he definitely did not keep buried in his personal logs with the title ‘Important Notes’ and the subtitle ‘Things I Can’t Say to Kathryn’ and in parenthesis ‘(Because She Would Eviscerate Me).’ The latest entry that he definitely hadn’t made was about the adorably betrayed face she made when she picked up her coffee mug only to find she had already swallowed the last of it while distracted.

“Good. Any idea what happened?” Carefully he stood, determined not to need the arm he could see cautiously following him up from the ground or the one that he knew would be hovering just behind his back. “Apart from the obvious.”

“Not really,” she moved closer and lowered her voice further. “I suspect the earth around us isn’t as solid as it appears. I’ve heard noises that can’t be attributed to the dirt settling and sometimes you can even see flashes of light brighter than the glow from the walls.”

“Not to mention the walls are all that’s glowing, not the floor or ceiling,” he spoke as softly as she did. “That seems less natural and more intentional.” He peered around the dim confines of the area as best he could before asking a question for which the answer seemed plain. “Our team?”

The Captain shook her head, one shoulder brushing against his. “They aren’t here with us. Hopefully that means they weren’t trapped in a different fissure. No way to be certain, of course.”

“Assuming they’re not, they should make it back to Voyager,” he put all the assurance he could muster into his tone. Dealing with their own predicament would be a lot less worrying than the idea of their crew in danger. 

“That’s assuming this earthquake, or whatever it was, is all they had to deal with – the Fr-Grukrt said that the Verqut had surfaced. What if whoever or whatever the Verqut is had something to do with this?” She shook her head, then. “Speculation will get us nowhere. We need to get back to the surface and find out firsthand.”

“You’ve already searched this place?” It was largely rhetorical. Starfleet training was big on What To Do When You’ve Been Captured, or as he preferred to call it: Why Just Sit Around and Bleed?

“As best I could with the lighting and the porous nature of the walls. They give, but only to a certain extent. I couldn’t break through them. The phosphorous substance doesn’t transfer, which seems odd.” She turned her hands up so that he could see the lack of glowing. “The floor is similar, but even less giving. I would say it was solid if we hadn’t just dropped through seemingly just as solid ground not that long ago.”

He frowned, then put a finger on what was bothering him about her analysis. “Your tricorder?”  She always had one near her. It was a thing with scientists. One biologist back at the Academy had named his as the one person he’d want with him when stranded on a deserted island. A tactics student had objected that it didn’t count as a person, and the argument had rapidly disintegrated from there. He was fairly certain their entire group was still banned from that restaurant.

She made a sound almost like a hiss. “With the packs. Doing a great deal of good waiting for our return to Voyager who knows how many meters up.”  Definitely missing her buddy. Hopefully he was a good substitute while stranded on a not-deserted island.

“Tuvok’s not going to let us live this one down, is he.” Chakotay didn’t bother to make it a question.

“I’d say Ensign Nguyen’s going to come out of this with a better report than us.”

In the dimness, he didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Well, let’s see if we can’t at least rescue ourselves. Then he might let us off the ship again sometime this decade. If I lifted you up, do you think you’d be in reach to examine the ceiling?”

He waited as she peered upwards into the dark. “I’d say so. It can’t be much over 10 meters.”

Getting down to one knee, he waited as she carefully got one knee situated on his shoulder. He offered his hands, palms up and flat, which she grasped and leaned down upon bringing her other knee up and balancing her weight. Once she seemed securely positioned, he slowly rose back to standing. The aches in his body complained, but he put them off with a promise of a shower with actual hot water once they were safely back onboard the ship. Carefully, he squeezed her hands.

“Ready?”

“Here we go.”

Carefully, she began the balancing act of transferring from her knees to her feet. As she let go of his hands, Chakotay wrapped them around her calves, bracing her upright. He hoped this would make them tall enough, but hesitated to speak loudly enough that she could hear him. Not when they didn’t know who or what else might be listening in.

A nudge to the side of his head with her knee, and he prepared for her descent, sliding his hands up her thighs as she worked her way back down until she took his hands in her own once more. Before he could kneel, she braced herself against his hands and hopped backwards, landing behind him.

“Anything interesting?”

“What I wouldn’t give for a tricorder,” she muttered. “It seems completely solid, but there’s clearly something holding the dirt in place. It’s too loose. If it weren’t under some kind of containment it would never hold it’s shape.”

“There’s a cheerful thought.” He looked upwards nervously. What if their captors decided the easiest thing to do was just be rid of them?

“Hey.” He looked down again at the tap to his shoulder. “Are we going to have a problem?”

Total confusion reigned for a moment before he remembered their last time together in a closed room courtesy of the Berillians. 

“No, this is plenty big enough,” he reassured her. “Maybe if the walls start moving inward.” That was another cheerful thought he wished hadn’t occurred to him.

“Seems like it would be a waste of energy.” The Captain moved on, probably hoping to distract his thoughts. “So no way to tunnel out, no doors or windows to pick locks on, and my yelling earlier didn’t attract anyone.”

“There was yelling?” That must have happened before he had come around. He almost minded missing that, Kathryn could swear a blue streak when the mood took her. Threatening her crew was one sure way of bringing it on, however much they hoped they were off the surface and back on Voyager by now.

“Loudly proclaiming who we were and asking to see our captors,” she admonished, clearly knowing exactly what he was thinking.

“Of course.”

She huffed. 

“So now we wait.” He suited word to action and picked out a soft piece of moss upon which to fold his weary bones.

It took her a few minutes longer. She paced across the enclosure, poking here and there at the wall as though it would reveal more information at her touch. Soon, though, she drifted over to his patch and sank down next to him, shoulders knocking together, tight with tension.

“Now we wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: I think I’ll just collapse right here, thanks  
> Trektober: Stranded on a Planet  
> Fictober: “sometimes you can even see”  
> OTPtober: B’s journal of cute things about or involving A  
> Inktober: Buddy
> 
> I guess I wrote yesterday's chapter and then just - went to bed? So there's two today! If you were very confused by the events in this one, you might have missed the previous one, so make sure and check that out!


	26. 26 October 2373

A shake to her shoulder brought her around almost immediately.

“Movement?” she managed around a yawn.

“No,” the hand on her shoulder shifted as Chakotay moved behind her, stretching out his legs. “It’s just your shift.”

“Mm,” she hummed and yawned again as she sat up. Unsurprisingly getting short bursts of sleep while in lock-down in an alien prison cell wasn’t the most beneficial means of getting rest. They weren’t even sure how long they were sleeping, without a time piece. The glow on the walls seemed to dim and brighten in regular intervals, which they were using as a metric, but with no frame of reference it was only a guess that the cycles were several hours long.

“On the bright side, I haven’t had a reaction to the water, so it should be safe for you.” His tone was nonchalant, but Kathryn scowled. She hadn’t been pleased at losing their argument over who should be the test subject for the water. He had insisted that, as the larger physical body, he would be able to process any harmful agents better than she. The fact that this wouldn’t help much if it was rank poison did not win her the argument, as Chakotay used that as additional evidence that it should be him. In Kathryn’s opinion, a captain who let someone serving under her take a risk instead of her did not deserve the rank. After an almost-shouting match, during which Chakotay resorted to ‘how about you trust me, for once, to take the risk,’ the question was finally settled using rock-paper-scissors, which she lost 1-2.

“I still say we should have seen who could list more elements,” she grumbled, standing and stretching before moving to the trickle of water seeping down the wall. Well, now seeping. During one of their now-regular attempts to find some way out of their prison, they’d noticed some sort of water flow hidden behind the vegetation on the wall. Quite a bit of chipping and cursing later, they now had a rudimentary source of water. They had decided that, provided the water didn’t kill them, they’d give it another estimation of a day before they got desperate enough to try eating the moss.

“Yes, that clearly wasn’t biased towards the physical scientist at all.”

She mumbled under her breath as she knelt to cup her hands under the most accessible portion of the water.

“What was that?” The laugh was still in his voice and her lips twitched against her will.

“I’m sure the social scientist in the room can figure it out from context,” she answered, then made a show of slurping the small pool of water from her hands.

“You want me to analyze your behavior?”

“You’ve seemed to do enough of that lately without asking,” she snapped, then winced. “My apologies, Commander. The situation is trying, but you didn’t deserve that.”

There was movement behind her that indicated he was sitting up once more. Kathryn drank another palmful of water, then another, to put off turning back around. When she couldn’t even pretend to a thirst anymore, she scrubbed her hands over her face, letting the cold water wake her up. After that she had no further excuses. Steeling her resolve, she rose and made her way back to the patch of moss they’d claimed as their ‘bed.’

Chakotay waited until she was re-seated, ready for her watch, before he spoke quietly. “I shouldn’t have said what I did the other night.”

“What?” That was so far from what she expected to hear as to occupy another galaxy.

“We’re on a diplomatic visit, one clearly more complicated than we were aware. I shouldn’t have thrown a wrench into your cogs when you needed to focus on the mission at hand.”

Would he ever stop surprising her, she wondered. At the risk of surprising herself, she noticed that her only emotion for that thought was fondness. And that his honesty deserved nothing less in return.

“Perhaps the timing was less than ideal,” Kathryn started slowly, “but I think you needed to say it. In fact,” the pieces were slowly coming together, “I think you’ve needed to say it for awhile now. That wasn’t a speech that came out of just one moment. And maybe,” she hesitated, then pulled her knees to her chest to rest her chin on them, “maybe I needed to hear it. I’m not saying you’re right,” she hastened to add before he interject, “but it’s given me a lot to think about. It’s not as though I want to be alone, you know, I just…” her voice petered out as she searched for the words.

“Want to do the right thing,” Chakotay finished for her. “Don’t look so shocked,” he grinned over at her, where she had sat up straight again, “I’m pretty sure that should be the first line in your Fleet record. Name, serial number, date of birth, ‘Will do the right thing and good luck standing in her way.’”

She wanted to laugh, and make a joke about how he was one to talk, but “Do you truly believe that?” fell from her lips before she could recall the sentence.

“Of course.” It was his turn to look surprised, then the expression softened. “We may not always agree on what the right thing is, Kathryn, but I know it’s what drives you even when I don’t share your version of why.”

“Even from before we met, even,” abruptly she cut herself off. The hunger and exhaustion must be taking more of a toll than she realized. This was one of the topics they Did Not Discuss. Quickly she tucked her head down on her knees again and resolved to glue her lips sealed at the earliest convenience. Maybe the moss could be used for that instead.

Silence hung heavy in the darkness.

“My decision to leave Starfleet and join the Maquis was the right one, for me,” came, very quietly, from her side. She didn’t dare to look over, or even breathe, though she started at the voice after such a long pause. “I didn’t agree with the official decision, and I still don’t, though that’s a different subject. I though leaving was the best way to make that disagreement heard and protect those that the Federation abandoned. But that doesn’t mean it was the right one for everyone. I may not know or understand why you stayed, but I know you. I know you thought it was the right thing to do, and I can respect that.”

In the quiet that followed, the rustle of his movements as he laid back down and the sigh as a body that must ache even more than her own sought to find a comfortable position seemed shockingly loud.

“If I left,” she whispered after his motions ceased, “I couldn’t protect anyone. Not from those who would go too far. On either side. At least,” she grimaced at the distant wall she couldn’t quite see in the gloom, “that’s what I tell myself. Most days…” she trailed off.

“Most days you believe it?” Chakotay suggested, weighted with the same tinge of regret that she sometimes felt burn the back of her throat.

“Yes,” she said on a sigh, something loosening beneath her breastbone.

“Yes,” he agreed, in the darkness, and the quiet descended once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: If you thought the head trauma was bad...  
> Trektober: Lockdown  
> Fictober: “how about you trust me for once?”  
> OTPtober: Breakfast in bed  
> Inktober: Hide
> 
> I kind of made myself so anxious about the 31 October date that I couldn't write anything - but now I've decided that this is just Week 5 of October instead. March lasted 47 weeks this year, what's one tiny extension of October at this point? So, onward we go!


	27. 27 October 2373

Chakotay woke up to Kathryn’s humming. He didn’t recognize the song, if it was a song and not just a way to keep awake, but it was a pleasant wake up – at least as pleasant a wake up as one was likely to get in alien captivity. It was low and smoky, like her voice, and wound through the cell at a leisure tempo.

After a few moments of enjoyment, he opened his eyes to find her sitting cross-legged beside him, his sacrificed comm badge resting on the moss in front of her. Undoubtedly, it was mid-way through another of her tweaks to generate a stronger signal. Trapped underground as they were, it was doubtful that the ship would be able to pick it up through the interference as the atmosphere of Beril made communication difficult even on the surface. As Kathryn had noted yesterday, though, she didn’t exactly have much else to do.

Mainly, he was just glad that she’d found something to do that she could call productive. Nearly three years in and he was well aware that the more alarming than any alien encounter were the times when she didn’t have a project on hand. She’d either invent one – driving whomever on the senior staff was in charge of the department she was playing merry hell with to come to him with pleas for assistance – or begin to show signs of sinking into moods that he mentally called ‘depressive’ for lack of a better word. He was no counselor or medic, and hesitated to label anyone with a condition that he was not equipped to diagnose, but it fit the symptoms he could see and worked as a useful designation that would never leave his own thoughts. An additional list, also buried deep in his logs, was of potential projects he could casually mention to her if nothing seemed on the horizon. It went against his own inclination, which was to wrap her up in a blanket, carry her to his quarters, and hug the sadness out of her, but it seemed to work well enough. Also, she’d never allow him to carry out his own plan.

Another list that Chakotay had never dared to write anywhere was how to convince her to accept help if distraction failed her. It was a short list and the entries were of doubtful utility. Mostly, he hoped it was never needed.

“Any luck?” The words stuck in his throat, and he cleared it harshly. Thoughts of water warred against how much his sore body would ache when levered upright.

“No real way to tell.” She didn’t look up, concentration focused on the tiny circuiting before her. “I’m placing each iteration on a rotating band, in the hopes that one of them will get through.” Apparently finished for the moment, she straightened and carefully tilted her head from side to side, loosening up her neck. Based on her grimace, it wasn’t entirely successful. Looking back down, she asked with a raised eyebrow, “Planning on sitting up?”

Shrugging as best he could while lying down, he got as far as placing his hands flat to the ground to push himself upright before giving up.

“Here, give me that.”

Confusion reigned for a moment before he followed her beckoning to set his hands in hers. Leaning back, she pulled until he gave in with a chuckle and rose to a sitting position.

A shudder shook the earth around their cell before he could ask what the hurry was in getting up. The tremors had been increasing in frequency and duration over the past seven cycles of the lights with no indications of whether it was a natural or artificial phenomenon. If it was artificial, then there was the concern that more beings were trapped in cells like theirs, possible even members of their crew. However, if it was natural, then the outcome night be worse for them personally. They had no way of knowing how much damage their cell could take before losing structural integrity and burying them alive. Chakotay tried not to think about that possibility for too long. The last thing they needed was a panic attack while they were trapped.

“Not to speculate without evidence, but those don’t sound the same as the crack that brought us down here,” he said, casually.

Given the sharp once-over that Kathryn gave him, he wasn’t certain that it came off as casually as he would have liked. Although whatever she saw must have reassured her enough that she only remarked, “I agree, but perhaps it sounds different when you’re on this side of things.”

Another shudder interrupted their conversation, and he noticed fine dust in his field of vision, that must have drifted down from the ceiling, lost in the dimness above.

“Kathryn,” he managed, eyes glued to the dust.

“What.” He could see her snap to attention in his peripheral vision, then an intake of breath when she must have followed his line of sight. “On your feet,” she ordered, standing as she spoke.

Hurriedly he followed, tearing his gaze away to look at her in question.

“Our best hope is that one of the walls will buckle, letting us out into whatever is beyond our cell. We may not have much time to move,” she hesitated a beat. “If you make it out, get out of here, whether I’m with you or not. That’s an order.”

“With all due respect,” he answered, “I’ll follow it if you promise the same.”

Chakotay didn’t even have to look sideways to know that there would be a glare fixed on her face.

“Didn’t think so.”

“This is not the time to debate about orders, Commander.”

“Understood, Captain.”

The huff indicated that she had picked up that he had said he understood, not that he would obey.

A shudder cut off the argument, stronger than the others, and the ground bucked beneath them. Throwing out his arms, he caught Kathryn’s and they braced against each other, watching the walls for signs of a crack or a weakening. To the left, some sort of field fizzled and died.

“There,” he yelled over the noise of the earth groaning, and pushed her in the right direction. Stumbling, still holding on to one another, they made it to the side of the cell. Before they could come up with a plan of attack, another swell of the ground knocked them off balance and they fell against the wall. For a moment, it took their combined weight, then it crumbled outward and they fell into a lit tunnel. It wasn’t brightly lit by normal standards, but compared to the dim confines of their cell it was nearly blinding. Squinting, Chakotay picked himself off of the ground, moving to stand back-to-back with Kathryn.

His eyes burned and slowly cleared. The tunnel was empty, but there was noise coming from further down one end.

“It’s quiet that way,” he yelled, pointing.

“If there’s any escape, it’s probably where the noise is – besides, there might be injuries,” she yelled back.

“I’m not sure whoever captured us will be exactly keen on letting us escape or help,” he reasoned as much as he could while at full volume.

“Probably better than stumbling around in a collapsing tunnel system.”

He couldn’t argue with that, and certainly not easily given their present circumstances, so he contented himself with turning around and heading down the tunnel first. At least he would be between her and whatever they were marching into.

A tug on his arm had him half-turn, bracing for an argument, but instead she fiddled with his jacket as he held her upright against another shudder. Looking down, he saw his comm badge was back in place.

“Just in case,” she yelled, and he nodded, before turning around to lead them down the tunnel.

The noises grew louder, resolving into voices, and they moved to the side of the tunnel, slowing their pace as much as they dared and trying to see around the gentle curve ahead. Even so, they didn’t get much warning before a curve opened into a large hall and the press of many voices raised and overlapping fell over them. Huddled in as much of a corner as they could manage, they watched the scene and listened for a moment.

“Natural phenomena,” Kathryn whispered into his ear. “They’re panicked. Perhaps we can…”

He cut her off, eyes picking out an incongruity in the crowd. These people, whoever they were, looked entirely unlike the Berillians they had met so far. Their bodies were largish masses, with three rows of tentacles at the base, the middle, and just below what he presumed to be the head. It made it fairly easy to pick out a cluster of figures that didn’t belong in the group.

“Are those Berillians?” He whispered as well, but either his lower tones or slightly forward positioning carried the sound further.

Out in the hall, the beings nearest the tunnel entrance turned towards them, followed by those that noticed their attentions. Soon most of the hall was staring in their direction.

“Out of the frying pan,” was all he heard, before his wily Captain somehow slid around him and strode boldly into the tunnel opening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Ok, who had natural disasters on their 2020 bingo card?  
> Trektober: First Contact  
> Fictober: “give me that”  
> OTPtober: A carrying B around the house bridal style, wrapped in a blanket  
> Inktober: Music


	28. 28 October 2373

Stepping inside her quarters at last, Kathryn dropped her stack of PADDs on the coffee table with a sigh and then dropped herself onto the couch with a groan. It had been a very long eighteen hours.

The Verqut had greeted she and Chakotay’s appearance in the hall as either the start of a poorly-planned invasion or a divine appearance, and were divided on whether to attack or plead with them. Luckily, this confusion gave time for the Berillian ambassadorial party – for such was the reason for the Berillian presence in the hall – to explain that they weren’t aggressors or gods, just unfortunate visitors to the planet that everyone thought had died four days ago.

After that everyone had questions: the Berillians wanted to know how they had survived, the Verqut wanted to know _where_ they had survived, and Kathryn wanted to know when they could get back to the surface and tell Voyager that they were, in fact, not dead. It had taken every smidgen of diplomatic training in her body not to demand that they head for the surface immediately. Voyager had thought they were dead for four days, she hated to imagine the pain that must have put her crew through. Even given what she know of her crew’s stubbornness and general unwillingness to accept death without a body, an autopsy, and a waiting period of a week or so – just in case – there would have been that awful doubt lingering in the back of the mind.

In the end, diplomacy won out and everyone got enough of their questions answered to focus on current events once more. The Berillian party had brought her and Chakotay up to speed quickly: the shudders were earthquakes and naturally occurring, as they surmised. They had been increasing in severity over the past weeks, far deeper in the earth than the Berillian instruments could detect. Five days ago, a few Verqut had been forced to surface when they were caught in a tunnel collapse near the surface which is when they and the building earthquakes had been brought to the Berillian’s attention.

“It was unexpected,” Grukrt Htilid, the leader of the Berillian diplomatic team, had finished. “The last time the Verqut came to the surface was over two hundred full rotations of the seasons ago. We keep a watch for them, as our ancestors did, but they were beings of myth. There was too much evidence of their existence to suggest that they were just stories, but most popular opinion was that they must have died out sinc ethey hadn’t been seen in so long.”

One of the Verqut had interjected at that point, moving closer to the group in a way that Kathryn had been able to tell Chakotay found fascinating, though he was too polite and disciplined to show it to those who didn’t know him well. She had almost been able to see him visibly restraining his need to know how the development of tentacles instead of arms had influenced their culture, from their domestic settings and furnishings through their inventions in labors and technologies. Secretly, Kathryn found the gliding motions of the Verqut’s movements, made by the use of multiple tentacles in a rippling effect, a bit unsettling, but she was doing her best to firmly stamp out that instinct.

“We thought the same of the Berillian,” the Verqut, who had introduced itself as Primah, had said, “Shortly after the last time we went there above in large numbers, there was a terrible storm and we thought all had perished for we could find no one when we dared to venture forth. We decided to stay here below forevermore afterwards.”

Grukrt Htilid had nodded and clicked her claws in agreement. “We have a history of that storm. It was like something out of legend, fierce and terrible, lasting for months. The waters were violent and the land scathed with merciless winds, rains, and electrical disturbance. Our ancestors were forced away from the shorelines on all continents, to shelter deep in the inland hills or mountain ranges. Some of the land is still scarred from the ravages of that time.”

The meeting that she and Chakotay had interrupted with their escape was one to plan the evacuation of the local Verqut city to the surface until observations of the increased earthquake activity indicated it was safe for their return. To her relief, the group had been insistent that they go with the first wave of the evacuation. As much as she had longed to help, Voyager had to come first. In addition, she had known that after five days of scant sleep, little water, and no food, they were not likely to be of much help in the efforts until they recovered. This plainly had shown in their appearance. After the first stages of the evacuation were decided upon, they had been ushered over to a low couch, provided with food and water, and all but ordered by a bustling Verqut to rest until the first wave was ready to move out.

“I think that one would get along with the Doctor quite well,” Chakotay had quipped quietly into her ear as they sat in what she suspected was a state of mild shock, clutching oddly shaped cups full of water. They had been too sensible to make themselves ill by tearing into the food and water, content with small sips and smaller bites of what looked like the blandest of the food stuffs at long intervals.

“Perhaps some things truly are universal,” she had whispered back. “Medics are terrifying in any species.”

The less said about the trek back to the surface, the better, in her opinion. It had been long, grueling to their worn out bodies, and fraught with the worry that another shudder might hit at any moment. They had been lucky. The quakes that did come were mild and the closest resulted in no more than dust shaking down from the ceiling.

They were pleased to learn through some of the small talk as they ascended that Voyager was still in orbit and there were teams from the ship on the surface, helping out in any way they could. She had expected nothing less of her crew, but still felt a swell of pride in them. The hope had been that they could make contact with those on the surface soon upon arrival, and get a message sent to the ship quickly thereafter. Neither of them had even had the heart to make the usual teases about Tuvok keeping them in line. Losing both of them wouldn’t have been easy, particularly with the immediate needs of the crew preventing him from dealing with his own loss.

Their tentative plans for making contact had been unnecessary, however, as Kathryn was handed out of the hastily erected fortifications of the tunnel egress and all but collided with B’Elanna.

“Captain?” If she survived a hundred more years, she hoped to never again hear that note of pain in B’Elanna’s voice. Before she could even respond, the engineer had snatched her up and was hugging the life out of her. Almost literally. With a little squirming, her arms were free enough to wrap around B’Elanna in return and she used her elbows to create a little more room for her rib cage to expand.

“It’s all right,” she had said quietly, mouth close enough to the chin digging into her shoulder that she was confident of being heard. “We’re fine.”

The arms tightened again for a moment, before loosening so that she could take in a woop of air as B’Elanna leaned back. “We?” she had asked, eyes bright with either viciously held-back tears or hope.

Kathryn had nodded towards the tunnel exit where Chakotay was brushing himself off and looking around to find her. After a final squeeze to her upper arms, B’Elanna had let go and moved like a woman on a mission, the Berillians wisely getting out of her way. Clearly she had already made an impression, Kathryn thought wryly. Taking in a few deep breaths, she had watched in amusement as Chakotay was all but tackled by a very relieved half-Klingon.

Leaving him to make his own escape, she had looked around to see if there were any more of her crew in evidence. The area had been mostly full of the newly arrived Verqut, but they were headed towards a set up at the far side of the clearing. Probably to be greeted and given temporary accommodations, she had guessed, and later found out she was correct. If there were more of her people around, they might be there.

A hand to her upper arm had her turning back to see B’Elanna standing behind her, other hand around Chakotay’s lower arm.

“I was just here briefly to check on the fortifications for the entrance,” she had explained. “Let me tell Ciltk Rislu I’m done and then I can show you back to the city. We can get a message to Voyager from there. I’d call ahead to the surface team, but I don’t think that’s the sort of news you give over a comm unit.”

Chakotay had smiled and she had also found herself grinning out of proportion to the joke. The relief of surviving and knowing that her crew were all safe had been hitting at last. To be honest it still was, even a day later, coming in unexpected waves to float her away from the moment. “Sounds like a plan, Lieutenant.” B’Elanna had nodded, but hesitated, looking over at a small team clustered near the exit.

“B’Elanna,” Chakotay had said quietly, after a few seconds. “We won’t vanish if you let go of us, I swear.” The left side of his mouth quirked up slightly. “We even promise not to move an inch.”

“Of course, sorry,” she had let go of both of them abruptly, and squared her shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

Kathryn had reached out and rubbed along the top of her shoulder before gripping it just enough to make sure she felt solid. “We’ll be here.”

It had been the first of many meetings, and by the end of it she had been certain that at no time in her life had she been touched so many times in one day. Of course many of the junior members had been too intimidated to touch her – although she had been touched that little Tal Celes had squeaked and grabbed her before clearly remembering whom she was grabbing and dropping her like a hot coal, frantically uttering apologies – but most others had been quick to at least reach for her arm in relief, many of which had segued into a clasp or some other non-verbal form of affection. It had always been her preferred form of communication, and later she had wondered if it was just common among the crew, if her tendencies were wearing off on them, or if they had reached out in her favored method deliberately. Thus went most of the crew.

Her senior staff had few compunctions.

She dimly remembered that, at some point in the mot too distant past, she had wondered what it would be like to hug her senior officers. Awkward and unprofessional, that’s what she had dismissed it as, that much she remembered. Perhaps she should revise that opinion, she mused, shuffling on the couch until flat on her back, feeling her neck settle into place with an alarming grind of bone.

After contacting Voyager, settling what they could on the surface and speaking with the team there, and receiving word back from the ship that the message had been received and a time for transport arranged, they had headed to the departure facility for health scans in time for the beam out. Fortunately there was no need for quarantine for either of them this time, and the feel of Voyager’s transporter pad underneath her feet caused another of those waves of relief to run over her.

Looking up, Kathryn had noticed that Harry was manning the transporter, to her confusion. She didn’t have time to ask, however, before Tom had stepped up onto the pad and wrapped her in a hug that lifted her clean off of the ground.

“I’d respectfully ask that you never do that to us again,” he had mumbled into her neck, “but I think Tuvok has claimed dibs on the lecture.”

“Put me down, Mr. Paris,” she had ordered. When he obeyed, however, she had found herself helpless to stop the grin at his sheepish face and returned the hug – although this time her feet remained firmly on the floor.

When she had ended the hug with a tap to his back, it was only to turn and face Chakotay, mouth open to say something that was entirely forgotten as she saw Harry standing in front of him, their hands holding each other’s upper arms. Seeing her movement, they had let go and looked over at her. She just registered Tom saying, “You’re next, big guy, so prepare yourself,” and Chakotay dryly responding, “If you pick me up, Paris, you’ll hurt yourself,” before Harry had taken the few steps needed to hug her in turn. It was a looser hug and he had pulled back sooner, a hint of trepidation in his eyes.

“We’re glad you’re safe,” he had said quietly, eyes looking at her with the wholehearted trust she worried would break one day.

“Oh Harry,” she had reached out to touch the side of his face for just a moment. “Thank you. We’re glad to be back.”

They had been similarly set upon when they reported to Sick Bay, and it took a few minutes before the Doctor and Kes got around to scanning them. They were pronounced dehydrated, exhausted, and undernourished, none of which came as a surprise, but the healing of the minor wounds suffered in their initial fall and subsequent journey through the tunnels was beneficial.

It had been almost a relief to retire with Tuvok in a brief to mutually bring each other up to speed. The one thing they were guaranteed was that there would be no hugging. The Doctor had declared they were by no means to set foot anywhere near the bridge, her ready room, his office, or anywhere that could be remotely construed as official before they had ate and slept. So, she had invited both men to meet in her quarters, and planned to tell the Doctor it was a social visit if he was nosy enough to ask.

Still, when Tuvok had arrived to find them both standing near the door, Chakotay having arrived just moments before, there had been a long moment of silence as he observed them.

“I am pleased,” he had finally said, tones deep, “to find you both well. The Doctor assures me you will recover from your deprivations in due course. I will keep my updates brief so that you may retire soon. If there is nothing of urgency from your own reports that cannot wait the night, I would suggest that we reconvene for further discussion after you have rested.”

After many years of practice, Kathryn could readily translate from Tuvok into Standard. He had felt the loss of their supposed deaths and had probably tasked everyone on the ship that they came into contact with to keep him updated on their condition, culminating with a full report from the Doctor that she suspected he had gone in person to receive so that he could stare at the scans himself. Now he was determined that they follow the Doctor’s orders to the letter because, frankly, they had put him through enough this week and were going to rest if he had to neck pinch them into it.

Sharing a look when Chakotay caught up, as he had less practice in translation, they had given in as gracefully as possible.

Now, a full day later, rehydrated though still eating small meals at frequent intervals, Kathryn knew that she had overdone it despite her crew’s best efforts. There had simply been too much to handle between the Verqut evacuation, studies of the seismological activity, and catching up on six days worth of ship’s business to allow her to stay off duty. And where she went, Chakotay was determined to follow, she was reminded as the door chimed.

“Come in,” she called, peeling herself off of the lovely flat surface with difficulty.

Her weary first officer shuffled in, sagging into the chair she waved a hand towards.

“Reports?” he asked, voice level despite his slumped form.

“Ugh.” It wasn’t articulate, but it was the best she had. “I hate to give the Doctor the satisfaction, but I don’t think I could retain a single word,” she admitted.

“Oh thank goodness,” he sighed and somehow melted further into the chair. “Words lost all meaning an hour ago.”

Amused, she propped her arm on her leg and her head on her arm. “Careful, you won’t be able to get out of that, soon.”

“This is fine,” he murmured, barely moving his lips. “If you toss that throw over my head, I’ll be good until the morning.”

“If you thought that sleeping on this couch gave you a back ache,” she said, staggering upright. “You don’t even want to know what a night sitting up in that chair would do. Come on,” she took his arm and gave a tentative pull that he assisted with in no fashion. “Do I have to do everything around here? I don’t have the strength to get you to your feet, but if you can make it up, we only have to prop each other up for a few feet to the bed.”

It took a few seconds, but his eyes popped wide open, shock banishing exhaustion momentarily. “Kathryn?”

“Over the past few days we’ve shared a bed, a patch of moss, and almost an untimely death sealed in a tiny room underground unbeknownst to anyone. I don’t think one more night is going to kill us.” Giving up on getting him to his feet before her own gave out, Kathryn wobbled towards her bedroom on unsteady legs. “Offer’s open, take off at least your boots before you get in, and if I’m already asleep wake me at your peril.” Making it through the door, she managed to shed her boots, jacket, and over shirt. She almost face planted into the pillow then, but reluctantly remembering how much she hated sleeping in the uniform pants, she shucked those too and grabbed a pair of shorts blindly from her wardrobe.

The blankets were barely over her shoulder before sleep swept her under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Such wow. Many normal. Very oops.  
> Trektober: Road Trip  
> Fictober: “do I have to do everything here?”  
> OTPtober: Traveling together  
> Inktober: Float


	29. 29 October 2373

“Try modulating the frequency.”

Chakotay looked up when he heard the Captain’s voice, then mentally told himself to get a grip and concentrated on his own efforts.

They were aiding the Berillians and Verqut in attempting to identify the source of the earthquakes to gain an estimate of how long they might continue and the severity they could grow to. Between Voyager in orbit, the Berillians on the surface, and a small team of Verqut underground, they anticipated a full range of data to analyze. It was proving, however, to be more frustrating than anticipated as the readings were not behaving logically, even taking the expected interference generated by the planet into account.

Personally frustrating, for Chakotay, was how his thoughts kept trying to drift back to waking up that morning in Kathryn’s quarters.

“I think I need a doctor on Block 4,” the latest relayed message from the planet’s surface turned his easily distracted mind from his work again. Clenching his jaw and forcing himself to concentrate on the data in front of him, he sent another set of coordinates to the helm.

_When the alarm went off, he tried to roll over and almost smushed Kathryn, who was plastered against his back like a heat-seeking missile. A muffled sound of protest brought him rapidly to a seated position, brain muzzled and confused. _

“ _What?” he blinked slowly at the unfamiliar room while his brain attempted a boot process and searched for cached memories. As they started filtering back in,_ _beginning with the sight of his_ _boots_ _set neatly beside the door,_ _he looked over his shoulder to find Kathryn, who had seized the opportunity of his absence to draw all of covers to herself like a magnet._

“ _I always set it a little early, so I can try and remember my to do list before I face the morning,” she mumbled, fisting the covers back up under her chin, completely unaware of how adorable it made her look. Rather than drifting back off into a doze as he half-expected, however, her eyes stayed open and fixed on him with a measuring gaze._

_Just before_ _he was about to reluctantly concede that he should go back to his quarters to get ready for the day, she said, apropos of nothing, “You said it was easier to speak in a_ _legend_ _. I’m not particularly practiced at story-telling, although Naomi is getting me up to speed.” She lapsed into silence again. He_ _laid back down slowly_ _, waiting with hope and caution warring in his heart. “But I think I have a story to tell you.”_

_His mind went completely and utterly blank. Frantically looking for something to say, he remembered what she had said so many days ago it seemed hard to believe it was only weeks instead of years, “I want to hear any story that you want to tell me, Kathryn.”_

_If the small smile on her face was any indication, it was the right answer._

“Any luck over here?”

Chakotay had managed to concentrate perhaps a little too well, as the voice behind him made his breath catch in surprise. 

“Not much,” he answered, in a hopefully even tone. “We’re trying further recalibrations, but even with our improvements, by the time we identify a location in the atmosphere with less interference and move to it, it’s already moved on. We’re feeding the data into a predictive program as we go, though.” He nodded towards the engineering station, where B’Elanna had moved to fine tune the program. “As we build a history of the locations, we’re hoping that a pattern will emerge so that we could be in place before the window opens.”

“Good thinking.” She nodded at Paris, clapped him on the shoulder, and then headed off to peer over B’Elanna’s shoulder.

“ _Once upon a time,” she started, and then glared at him when he couldn’t help his snort of surprise. “It’s the one I have the most practice with, they’re Naomi’s favorites.” Chakotay nodded and arranged his face into one of serious listening. Kathryn continued, beginning with a pointed reiteration, “Once upon a time, there was a princess in a tower.” She took a breath, looked at his face that was sorely attempting to remain straight and sighed. “Fine, out with it.”_

“ _Were you very nice to all the animals?” he asked solemnly, reassured by the twinkle in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide behind her mask of irritation._

“ _Yes. And I ate all of my vegetables, especially tomatoes. Now, as I tell Naomi, if you don’t behave I won’t tell you the story at all.” He assumed his most contrite expression. After eyeing him suspiciously for a moment, she went on, “The princess hadn’t always lived in the tower. She used to live out in the kingdom with her family and friends about her. One day, however, there was a terrible accident,” she swallowed hard and curled up, pulling the covers closer around her. Uncertain if she wanted comfort, but unwilling not to let her know she wasn’t alone, Chakotay slid one hand out of the blankets and rested it between them, as an offer. Her eyes followed his motions and, after a minute, one of her hands worked free of the pile covering her body and slid into his. Gently he squeezed it and she spoke again, gaze on their intertwined hands. “There was a terrible accident, and the king and the prince-to-be were lost. The princess… she tried to save both of them and failed.” _

_He wrapped his other hand around hers as well, hoping to anchor her to the present._

_Her voice grew so quiet that he wouldn’t have had a hope of hearing her if they weren’t lying so close together. “After that the princess moved into the tower. That way she could still see and hear the kingdom, but she’d be safe. There were some who tried to get her out of the tower. Her sister stood at the bottom and yelled at her a lot.”_

_Chakotay grinned and renewed his resolve to one day meet Phoebe Janeway. _

“ _There was even a man in another tower who said he wanted to marry her. The princess liked the idea, because that meant neither of them would ever have to open the trap door, travel down the winding stairs, unbar the gate, undo all of the locks and step outside. They could just call to one another from their towers and that would be enough.” She shrugged, one shouldered. “It seemed like enough, anyway, at the time.”_

“Unless it’s coming from two places at once, these readings don’t make any sense.”

His attention was distracted from his latest triangulation of atmospheric data by B’Elanna’s voice, thick with irritation.

“Maybe it is,” Harry said suddenly.

“Care to explain?” the Captain stepped away from the Security station where she and Tuvok had been coordinating with the teams on the ground and moved towards Ops.

“We’ve been working from the assumption that there has to be one general source for the earthquakes, but what if that’s a faulty premise?” He looked down and made adjustments on the screens before looking up again with a small hint of a triumphant grin. “If we back up and allow for two sources, then the data falls into place. Well, at least more into place. We’ll still need the Berillian and Verqut teams to focus on gathering sensor measurements in more specific areas rather than the broad sweeps we have currently.”

“But we’re one step closer,” she beamed at him, “transmit the updated areas to the other teams. Excellent work.”

“ _But then, one day,” a small smile stole back across her face and she picked up steam again, “a knight rode in from the troops that that princess was commanding. Actually,” her tone dropped out of ‘story telling’ and moved into her normal cadence, laced with wry exasperation, “the entire raiding party of her senior knights appears to have set up camp around the base of her tower, but that’s another story. This knight was the most persistent, anyway.”_

“ _Hm, persistence. Seems like a very wise knight,” he contributed solemnly._

“ _More like pig-headed,” she mumbled. He raised an eyebrow in mild incredulity – pig-headed, now who else in the bed could possibly resemble that remark – then chuckled as she glared at him for a moment before sticking out her tongue._

“ _Anyway,” she said loudly. “The knight rode in and said that he’d gotten to know her a little in the commands that she gave and wanted to be better acquainted. The princess decided this was practical and they began to become friends, she up in her tower and he on his horse. After some time, however, the knight got down off of his horse and asked the princess to come down from her tower. She said that she couldn’t, for many very good reasons. Her tower was the best place to see the battle field and advise her knights. There were laws in the kingdom about princesses coming down from their towers, and even if none precisely applied in this case, they were still wise laws. But there was one reason that the princess never told the knight.” Kathryn’s gaze dropped back to their hands and she tightened her grip, hard. “If the princess came down from the tower, then she wouldn’t be safe anymore. If she lost the knight, any of her knights.” Her voice fell away._

_Chakotay knew better than to step in, she needed to work through this story herself, but he couldn’t help himself anymore and pulled at her hand in his. To his surprise, she gave way easily and he enfolded her in his arms, blankets and all._

“ _The princess expected the knight to leave after that. Even hoped he would, because he made everything so complicated. But he kept coming back to her tower. It wouldn’t last, she told herself, so she did what she does best. She put up more fortifications around the tower and stopped answering when the knight came to call. He would give up and everything would make sense again, or as much as anything could make sense in the extremely odd battle her troops were fighting. He just kept coming, though, and now she’s staring to believe that he won’t give up.” _

_Something in her voice as it broke over the last few words, some mixture of hope and despair, had him tightening his grip until she squeaked. He loosened it with a muttered apology, and the bundle of blankets in his arms squirmed until her hands were flat on his chest without covers between them. His concern, while present, was not enough to override the knowledge that the legs bumping his own were bare, and the irrelevant thought intruded that he was willing to bet that even now they were in matching outfits – Starfleet tanks and shorts. Before his still-tired mind could begin to ponder if being kind of in-uniform meant they were still on duty, he sternly ordered it back on track and focused on the woman in his arms._

“ _So, now the princess is caught in a quandary. There are still all of those very good reasons not to leave her tower, plus she’s still not sure if it’s safe, but she’s starting to wonder if there aren’t also very good reasons **to** leave her tower. And that is a lot of reasoning to get through while she’s trying to keep all of her knights safe.”_

“Why does it feel like we’re back at step one again?” Tom muttered, loud enough that the group of officers all back at their assigned posts and staring collectively at the latest imaging on the forward screen could hear. One source of the earthquakes had been easy to resolve. There was seismic activity in the area, but it had peaked yesterday and was subsiding. The other was proving more elusive.

“Because we haven’t found the key to have it resolve into sense yet,” the Captain spoke distractedly, mind caught up in the puzzle. “Patience, Mr. Paris.”

Something about the area they were looking at was bothering Chakotay. Had he heard of it before? Seen it before? Having spent the day poring over maps and images of the planet, he undoubtedly had, but it wasn’t the topography that was familiar.

“I don’t think that it’s another split,” Harry contributed. “If it is, it’s into locales that are so close as to be negligible.”

“Perhaps the Berillian or Verqut have information on this area that was not included in the data sent to us. If it is, perhaps, common knowledge or of cultural significance not generally given to outsiders, then they might have additional data to add,” Tuvok offered after the Bridge had stared in silence at the screen a while longer.

Before the Captain could agree to the eminently reasonable suggestion, something in his brain clicked and put together the piece he had been missing.

“Ensign Kim,” he ordered, standing to move up to the Ops station, “there’s a file we need to access that I think might give us a better place to start with our questions.” Quickly, he flipped though the logs he had sent up during the diplomatic visit, prior to their unplanned sojourn underground. Finding the information he passed it to Harry to overlay on the screen.

“What?” Trust Paris to speak while the rest of them were still assimilating the addition. “Is that a label of some sort?”

“When the Berillians were giving us a tour of one of their museums, I got into a conversation about my interest in the history and development of other cultures. Ciltk Hmlu was kind enough to send me some information about the history of Beril, including a map of ancient cities. This one,” he pointed to the icon positioned directly in the middle of the converging lines of activity, “is one that was termed ‘a lost city of another extinct species.’”

“You’re thinking it’s the Verqut,” the Captain rose to stand beside him at the front rails as they studied the map.

“The Beril don’t refer to the dead by name, so it could well be. And if the Verqut survived, surely there’s a way to get in touch with this city and see if they know what’s happening in their local area that could cause all this activity. If nothing else, we should at least see if they need help.”

“Ensign, draft up the communique. Tuvok, prepare a team in case immediate assistance is required once we’re in contact. Mr. Paris, move so that we’re within transporter range of both the standard site and this new city. Nice work, Commander,” she gave him the pleased smile that all the crew coveted as they headed back to their seats.

He tried to restrain his smile down to a natural response, and wondered if she was having the same trouble tucking their morning into the back of her mind.

_They laid there in silence for a long while, long enough that Chakotay grew confident that she was done._

“ _I think there’s a lot there to talk about. I also think that right now is probably not the time. We have to go on duty in a short while and,” he changed what he was about to say from ‘I think you need time to recover,’ to, “I think we could both use some time to process. However,” he smiled a little, to let her know that he was moving to a lighter note, “I can assure you that the knight has plenty of rations to hold out a while longer. And he might even be willing to send some coffee up to the tower.”_

“ _What a considerate knight,” she returned the smile, then let it tilt wickedly, “does the author get a cup as well?”_

“ _That depends,” he pretended to narrow his eyes at her in suspicion, “was that really a legend among your people?”_

_He surprised her into a laugh that lit her entire face and ended with her stifling a final giggle in the front of his shirt. “No,” she said through the last of her laughter. “No, but it did make it easier to say.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: I think I need a doctor  
> Trektober: Meeting the Family  
> Fictober “back up!”  
> OTPtober: Couple costumes  
> Inktober: Shoes


	30. 30 October 2373

“Just say it,” Kathryn didn’t even open her eyes at Chakotay’s entrance. Head against the arm of the couch and sprawled full length, shoes discarded beside her, she didn’t want to move for a very long time. Muscles ached that she hadn’t even been aware she possessed.

His steps didn’t even falter as he made his way over to her. “I suspect Tuvok said it all already.” The hand sliding under her feet was enough to get her to open her eyes and watch, puzzled, as he sat on the couch where her feet had been, settling them into his lap. The beginning of the foot rub slid her eyes closed again, however, as she attempted to become one with the uncomfortable furnishing beneath her.

Silence settled between the comfortably as she sought not to actually moan as he hit a particularly troubling knot in the arch of her foot.

“While I’m glad that everything worked out,” he began, and she just knew there was a ‘but’ coming. Clever of him to wait on the lecture until she was so relaxed she couldn’t put up much of a fight.

“I refuse to talk about ship’s business while,” she trailed off, unsure how to phrase what was happening. While he massaged her feet was factual, but seemed to suggest much more intimacy than what was occurring. Or was it? She was laying down in her quarters with her feet in her first officer’s lap while he massaged them – how could it be any less intimate than that implied? She tugged gently on her left foot and he let it go, only to begin on her right.

“Because you prefer to keep a strict line between the professional and personal,” Chakotay mused aloud.

“Of course.” Kathryn managed to successfully retrieve her feet, despite the wonders he had been working on her arches, and tucked them underneath herself to sit up cross-legged. “It’s always a mistake when they mix. Don’t you think?” She barely stopped the wince that wanted to follow her question. Surely he would know she wasn’t throwing Seska in his face.

“Yes, but only to a degree. There’s always going to be some personal in work, we aren’t automatons. Not being aware of the personal can be equally as disastrous.” Without her feet, he moved to lean sideways, propping his head up with an arm on the back of the couch.

“Naturally, but you know what I meant.” She narrowed her eyes, wondering where he was trying to lead the conversation with a sinking, ominous feeling in her gut.

“Do you know what you meant?” he asked, a half-grin on his face, but a serious light in his eyes. “Because I know we tabled a conversation for later, but I would think that throwing yourself in the middle of one diplomatic morass in a day would be enough.”

She waved the sentence away, irritably. “Not much of a diplomatic morass. One Verqut city-state didn’t realize they were affecting another with their new mining technology, and were extremely confused at being contacted by a race they thought dead and a visiting ship from another quadrant of the universe. We have had no indications of any duplicitous dealings from any member of the planet, and no real risk. There were no injuries, no disappearances, not even any raised voices, and I refuse to never visit a planet again because of one mishap.” Blowing out a breath, Kathryn considered that she had spent too long defending herself today and not enough time on the offensive. “Are you calling us a diplomatic mess? I hadn’t realized we were that far gone.”

Chakotay only laughed, rubbing his forehead into the hand propping his head up. “Tuvok definitely covered everything if you’re already that practiced. And when it comes to discussing emotions, I think it’s always a bit of a mess. They don’t behave very logically.”

“And that’s the problem,” she mimicked his body language, propping herself up sideways against the back of the couch. “A captain should always behave logically, or at least not let her emotions rule her better judgment.”

“You are undoubtedly our captain, Kathryn, that won’t change. But there’s more to you than just a captaincy, and that’s a good thing. Haven’t you even encountered those brass who let their rank, their job, become their whole world? I don’t want to see you become that.”

“I have a responsibility to this ship, Chakotay, and this crew.” He wasn’t wrong, she knew officers like that. She knew the whispers behind their backs, and had seen how their blind focus had not only made them so hidebound and starched that they could no longer connect to life outside of Starfleet, but also kept them from truly effective action within Starfleet with no vision or perspective. “Until I get them home, they have to be my priority. Even if I end up like Captain Johnson.”

He blinked, then his serious face cracked into a wicked half smile. “Okay, I have a hard time imagining you going that far.”

“I’ll have you know my impression of him was a hit at the Academy.” She straightened back up and tried to remember the growling monotone of the cadence. “I do not see the amusement, Commander,” she rasped, pursing her lips and looking down her nose as though surveying a dish of leola root in the mess, “we are here to serve Starfleet, not indulge in useless witticisms.”

“Where did that come from? Please, stop,” he begged, laughing, “ten out of ten, I’m having flashbacks.”

“You knew him?” she relaxed back onto the couch, delighted that she still had it and at the smile Chakotay couldn’t hide.

“I served under him on a short exercise as an ensign. Which is why,” he eyed her mock-sternly, “if you ever get that far I am going to resign, settle on the next M class planet, and abandon Tuvok to your tender mercies.”

“I wonder if those two ever met,” she said, distracted from a point she couldn’t quite remember.

“Considering that, last I heard, Captain Johnson was doing fine, I suspect not. Tuvok doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and I think we would have heard of an ego that size being demolished.” They lost a few moments to the silence of imagining that delightful meeting. “But I think we wandered from the topic. Voyager is your first priority. I completely agree, she’s mine as well. But that doesn’t mean it is my _only_ concern. My personal relationships onboard are important as well, if secondary. It’s not either-or.”

She found herself on her feet almost before she knew what her legs were doing. Thinking while moving always worked better for her. Two circuits of the living area, she was no closer to figuring out how to say what she was feeling.

“Kathryn,” the soft voice interrupted her increasingly frenzied thoughts as she started the third circuit. “I didn’t mean we needed to figure everything out in one discussion. We just need to start the conversation. We both have responsibilities to this crew. That’s settled. Now, we say that we’re forming a family on board this ship. Do you intend to keep us all at a distance for the next sixty-odd years, as though you’re a distant cousin we only see at family reunions?”

He’d caught her off-balance and he knew it. She resisted the urge to immediately deny the claim, though. Something about it made her feel as though she was being led down that primrose path to who knows what. “A distant cousin?” she mused to give herself space to think. “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t relegate me to something living in the attic.”

Chakotay shook his head slowly, lips quirked, but eyes fixed on her with a look that said he knew too well what she was doing. “It’d never work on Voyager,” was all that he responded. “If we had attic space, Neelix would have filled it with leola root.”

It surprised a laugh out of her, as he undoubtedly intended. It  also  loosened something in her chest and she moved back to the couch. “I never thought I’d be glad to have less storage space.”

The lightness between them lay for a few minutes until Kathryn could almost keep from bracing herself when the breath beside her hinted at words to come.

“I would never pressure you,” they came slowly and measured. “I would never want you to do anything, to be anything, that you regret. What I hope is that you’ll allow the bonds we’re all forming on this ship to grow naturally. That’s all. But,” and here they hesitated, before plunging onward more quickly, as though afraid of something coming to stem the flood, “allowing me, us, in and then pushing us away again. It’s not healthy. Not for you, not for me, and not for the people who care about you.”

“I won’t apologize for doing what I have to in the interests of my ship.” The heat beneath her breastbone was rising again, pushing her to walk, to fight, to do something, anything.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he returned swiftly. “But is holding all of us at arm’s length for Voyager? Or for yourself?” Grimacing, he ran a hand over his face. “I don’t mean that quite how it sounded. It’s fine if it’s for yourself. We all do what we have to in order to keep sane out here. If being alone is what you want or simply the occasional meetings with colleagues after hours, that is your choice and I will respect it. However,” he reached out, hands open, but stopped just short of taking hers. Her eyes darted between his face and his hands, before extending her own. Her gently clasped them, then repeated, “However, I would hate to think that you’re pushing everyone away by reflex, only to find that being alone isn’t truly a strength for you. It’s just lonely. And,” his eyes dropped to her hands, and this time it was her who tightened her grip to give him courage. “I’m afraid that by that point you’ll no longer know how to reach out. I truly just want you to be happy, Kathryn.”

She transferred her attention to their hands, needing a moment to sort through the too many emotions he had stirred within her. When it came to these dreaded ‘emotional talks,’ she didn’t have Chakotay’s way with words. Give her a fight of any kind – an alien to subdue, a threat to deliver, logic to turn a debate –  and the words flowed steadily . She had practiced  for that , time and again.  But she’d rather eat leola root everyday for a month than have to talk about what she was  _feeling_ .

“I can’t promise anything, Chakotay,” she managed at last. “Voyager will always come first, as long as we’re out here, and I’m not sure I know how to be her Captain and also be anything else. I don’t want you to, to wait, I suppose.”

“I can’t exactly turn my heart off like an early morning alarm,” she could hear the smile in his voice and looked up to see the shadow of a crooked grin on his face. “But what you say is fair. We both have things we need to learn, you to balance the Captain and Kathryn, and me to live for the future with patience. Hm. I’m not sure which of us is going to have a harder time.”

Her own almost-smile had faded, though. “Chakotay, I meant it when I said I couldn’t give you a promise. I don’t want you to plan on a future we might never have.”

“Aren’t you the one always telling us that we’ll make it?” he teased gently. “Fine, I won’t promise to wait. Neither of us will. If you find a moment of pleasure out here in the wilderness, spirits know I want you to take it. I think that might be even harder on me than waiting for the future. But I think we both should try. Can you give that promise?”

She appreciated that he didn’t say ‘at least.’ It wasn’t an ‘at least’ promise at all. Try to let this crew in, to be their Captain  and the ultimate source of the Federation for thousands of light years, and also their friend? She wasn’t sure it was within her capabilities. If it came down to a choice between them, she would always be their Captain first, she would get them home if the cost she paid was never ending. But could she try? Gently she disengaged her hands. 

Taking a deep breath, she sat up straight, head high, and held out her hand. “I promise to try.”

He huffed a laugh, then gravely took her hand in his own. “I promise to try.” he echoed  the proposal , eyes and dimples twinkling.

“Shall we seal it with dinner?” she asked. “Something light. We have at least two feasts to get through tomorrow, and I wouldn’t swear they won’t sneak in a few extra on us.”

“That’s a deal,” he agreed, not even trying to restrain his smile anymore. As she rose to threaten her replicator into submission, he added, “I’ve enjoyed our last couple of meals together. We should make it a regular event, perhaps?”

Kathryn considered as she glared at the replicator menu. It had been nice. Eating seemed like less of a chore when there was someone to share it with. “Weekly?” she offered over her shoulder. “At least, when we can manage it.”

“Weekly, come aliens or the latest chaos our Three Musketeers have loosed upon the ship. And absolutely no talk about work.”

“Can we manage that?” she wondered aloud, turning around with bowls of a brothy soup that were both gently steaming and the right color, for a wonder. 

“We can certainly try.” They shared a grin as she set one of the bowls in front of him. Setting her own bowl down, she seated herself, laid a napkin across her lap, and took up her spoon. Looking up to ask Chakotay if the seasoning was to his liking, she saw the most peculiar look cross his face as he swallowed, spoon poised above his bowl.

“What type of soup is this?” 

“Chicken noodle,” she looked down at her own bowl, which looked reassuringly normal. “Why?”

“It tastes like,” he paused, tilting his head up to gaze at the ceiling in contemplation. “I can almost place it. Like,” his eyes slid back down to the bowl. “Clam chowder?”

Kathryn pushed her bowl aside, laid her head in the cradle of her arms on the table, and let out an exasperated groan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Now where did that come from?  
> Trektober: Injuries  
> Fictober: “Just say it”  
> OTPtober: Realizing they’re the one/proposing  
> Inktober: Ominous
> 
> I was stuck on this conversation for so very, very long. I apologize for the exceedingly long wait! I couldn't figure out how to get them where they needed - or at least I wanted - them to go. It was very frustrating and a lot of tea was consumed in the making of this chapter. I've looked at it so long, I no longer know if it makes sense, but I was determined to finish this in 2020!


	31. 31 October 2373

If he ever had to pick a torture that he would willingly endure, formal receptions as Captain and Commander would win by a landslide. At his place by her elbow, her subtle scent would stay with him the whole evening, her hand would land on his shoulder or thread through his arm, her occasional quiet asides whisper into his ear. It was an anguishing, sweet torment to his senses, and there was no place he would rather find himself.

“Your crewman wanted to know why we call the planet Beril when both the Berillians and Verqut live on it.”

Chaokotay knew the Captain had gone tense beside him, although it wasn’t visible to the eye. He could almost hear her mind quickly planning how to undo any insult that might have been given.

“She seemed to find the answer interesting from a linguistics standpoint,” Istik Markoli continued, tone easy and conversational. The moment the Captain turned off her mental yellow alert relaxed a tightness slowly crawling up between his shoulder blades he hadn’t even realized had knotted. “Only the Berillians call it Beril, the Verqut call it Verqut.”

“So your planet has two names? That seems equitable.” The Captain’s statement was true, but he wondered how confusing that made it to those alien to the planet. Perhaps one was more commonly used with outsiders.

“We have some planets with two names in the Federation,” he contributed, nodding in Tuvok’s direction, “Lieutenant Tuvok’s home world, for instance, is T'Khasi. In the Federation, however, it is called Vulcan.”

“Hm,” Istik Markoli’s claws clicked slowly in reflection. “Yes and no. Long ago, when our species were still evolving we had two different languages. We still do, although some words crossed over from one to the other before this separation. Useful ones mostly, ‘are we agreed?,’ ‘I trust you,’ ‘what is the price,’ ‘water,’ and so on. But with translation devices the two languages are not obvious to visitors. ‘Beril’ and ‘Verqut’ are different words, but they have the same meaning.”

“How interesting. Is the meaning translatable?” the Captain asked, in a cautious tone. With other cultures it could sometimes be a thin line between curiosity and intruding on elements that were sacrosanct.

The Istik paused for a moment in deliberation, "I think that the closest translatable word might be ‘home,'" she said slowly. "For that is what it is to all of us, our greatest similarity, despite our differences. It is our home, in any language.”

Chakotay felt an unexpected sting behind his eyes and swallowed hard.

“Yes,” Kathryn said quietly, and she looked out over the crowd, this wedding of so many different cultures. Her gaze lingered on B’Elanna gesturing at Paris by smacking the back of her hand on his chest while Harry looked about two seconds away from accusing her of making the entire story up, Tuvok patiently permitting Neelix to drag him into a debate about the use of spices that had the cluster of Berillians snapping claws in excitement, Vorik inclining his head politely to a shorter Verqut whose tentacles were shaping something as it spoke, a fully recovered Richardson laughing with Kes and a small group at one end of the table laid out with food and drink. Finally, she met his still-stinging eyes with a soft smile. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober: Today’s special: Torture  
> Trektober: Holiday Celebration  
> Fictober: “I trust you”  
> OTPtober: Wedding day/Having their first child  
> Inktober: Crawl
> 
> It's done! (I'd say pretend for a brief moment that this was actually 31 October and I managed to finish on time, but I suspect none of us want to rewind any part of this year.) So, instead, I will say that I am very happy to have reached the end of the tale, and a little sad that I won't get to spend more time trying to figure out a legitimate plot with only a handful of prompts and a very uncooperative duo. 
> 
> I am also incredibly grateful to anyone who has actually made it through this entire thing. Have some coffee ice cream, you deserve it! I am particularly indebted to those of you intrepid souls who doggedly trudged along as I was trying to beat it into a semblance of sense. I appreciate you more than you can imagine, and a great deal of the credit for this actually making it to an ending goes to each of you. Thank you so much!


End file.
